The enemy were upon them in an instant, and immediately Noth wondered whether they had fallen prey to some manner of snare. These were clearly poachers based upon the cages filled with various animals which flooded the cave, but did that mean that they were practiced in entrapping men and women as well? He wondered for a single instance what the difference between a slaver and a poacher was, other than their choice of cargo, and determined immediately that he could see very little that contrasted the two. They both entrapped some living being that desired to be somewhere else, and then sold them to others who would use them for potentially malevolent means. Slaves were tools to be used by their masters, and he wondered whether the animals were also of the same volition.
Thoughts were expelled from his mind at incredible speeds as the conflict truly picked up. He had managed to pick off what appeared to be the enemy’s equivalent of him, whilst Nightshade dealt with a pathetic poacher who clearly should have known better than to tangle with her. He was glad that he was stuck with her, though he would have preferred not to be in danger whatsoever. She was easily the most skilled of his allies in the arts of warfare, and whilst he found the acting talents of Mamnon to be quite useful, and soil-bending properties of Aerlan to be fascinating, these were clearly times for battle, and neither truly excelled at the spilling of blood in the same manner as the female halfblood.
He notched another arrow, allowing feathery fingers to find placement upon the fringes of an arrow, and then to press it firmly against the taut string of his longbow. It was a trustworthy weapon, and it gave him a clear advantage over any incoming assailants since it allowed him the opportunity of first strike, though he presumed that he would eventually need to swap to his mace the instant that the horde of criminal knaves overran him. They came quickly, charging in with various builds and weapons. There was a thin and wiry fellow with a jagged knife and a crooked smile who seemed to be high on some manner of product, because his eyes were wide and bloodshot and he fidgeted around as if though he were nearly ready to suffer cardiac arrest. Noth helped him along to that state, sending a projectile of hewn metal through his overactive heart, and allowing the poor rodent his rest.
A pair of the poachers surrounded Nightshade, assailing her, and though he desired to assist, he himself was dealing with his own set of problems. The remaining four had decided to rush towards him, allowing him to pick one of them off with his longbow as they charged forth, apparently undaunted by the prospect of being shot. They were too close to draw again, and his heart began to pulse with adrenaline as feathered fingers found purchase upon the hilt of his mace, drawing it forth and tossing the longbow aside lest it be broken in the action.
The first person to reach him had appeared to be another wiry man, though upon opening her mouth and shouting an epithet, he became aware that she was indeed a woman. One could not have discerned such from physical appearances, for she was covered head to toe in wretched rags and stank as though she had roiled around in filth for several trials. Her teeth seemed to be on the verge of falling outwards, and one jutted forth from her lip even though she had attempted to close the gaping hole. In her hands was another rough and curved knife, apparently a hunting instrument based upon its general make. She slashed widely through the air, apparently attempting to eviscerate him in a single blow.
Crimson eyes worked quickly, discerning the exact location that the knife would strike, and immediately determining to ignore the attack in favor of a rapid counterattack. He raised his hands into the air, clutching them both around the mace and leaving himself exposed. The hag ran the blade across his hauberk, eliciting a light shrieking groan of metal and the clinking noise of armor being stricken. Her face suddenly became incredibly terrified, and she turned half a step to run before the mace came down upon her dome. There was a dull crackle, and she stumbled another half step forward before falling flat to the ground.
The next pair were far more conservative in their efforts, and the largest of them appeared to have his own manner of armor, though it appeared to have been found upon a battleground somewhere. The helmet that draped his head had a gaping hole through the right hemisphere, but it still provided some manner of protection, Noth supposed. The other fellow wore the outfit of an Etzori deserter, and though he too was lacking in complete protection, he wore a chainmail coat that appeared to be fairly new. It would be a difficult battle, but thankfully he possessed the mace which would allow him to negate some of the benefits of armor, albeit not all of them.
The largest man clutched at a massive war hammer, snorting his nose as if though he were some manner of porcine animal thrust into the body of a man. The smaller fellow unsheathed a rapier, twisting it wily in his hand as he prepared himself to strike as well.
There was a cry, a familiar voice that interrupted his fight. He glanced rapidly over to ensure that his fair companion hadn’t sustained some form of lethal injury, but instead of finding her broken or blooded upon the floor, he found her incredibly close and quite healthy. That health didn’t last, and a moment later he observed a previously unseen figure send a knife jutting into her side, somewhere around the abdomen. She questioned whether he was alright, and he stared disheveled at the wound, now dripping scarlet blood onto the already filthy cavern floor.
She crashed against him, clutching upon him as if though he were the only thing to keep her from dying, and in a way he might have been. The blade was still there, jutting out of her flesh like a misplaced thorn, taunting him for his failures. It had slashed its way through her flesh, but he felt the pain nonetheless, the suffering of having his only friend wounded, the only person he cared for anymore lying broken at his feet as if though she were just another corpse to add to the pile, another lamb to the slaughter.
He broke.
Gone was the decorum of a civilized battle, no matter how bloody it might have been. Gone were the tactics that constantly flooded his mind, and the wondering and curious thoughts that infiltrated his conscious. It was replaced with hatred, a glowing red fire of anger that blossomed outwards from his core, and found itself spread upon the poachers with every glare he gave them. They had paused apparently preparing to accept his surrender, but there would be none.
“Give it up, birdy, and maybe you get to live.”
“There shall be no surrender. Do you know why?” He uttered, hot and fiery, his voice losing its standard calm.
“Oi, lemme guess. We cut up yer lady and now yer gonna get all nippy with us, eh? Gonna pull out some fantastic trash, maybe you can fly through the shadows an’ kill us all? Whatcha think, Stumpy? Think he can pull a quickie on us?” The deserter questioned the giant in the room. The great beast responded with a loud chuckling noise and another snorting sound, once more reminiscent of a pig.
“You know not who I am. I am Noth, Prince of Eternal Mercies, and you have angered me.”
“Never ‘eard of you.”
“And what do you think the point of Eternal Mercy is.”
The conversation came to a halt as the deserter considered for a moment before nodding towards the giant and thrusting his head towards him with a ‘get him’ gesture. The fellow complied rushing forward and swinging his mighty hammer downwards at the Avriel. Deftly, he dodged to the side, allowing the hammer to fall flat with a sparking bang against the floor. He danced around him, smashing the mace against his wrist and eliciting a growl of pain from the not-so-gentle giant.
He spun around, swinging the mighty hammer about as if though he were planning to take down the entire cave, and this time Noth was indeed struck with the weapon, it landing a blow against his hauberk and sending him tumbling into the shadows for a moment. His lungs hauled in his chest from the blow, though he didn’t think it had managed to break anything terribly vital. Pain flourished through his body, floating through every vein and artery as if though it were just as common as the lifeblood that pulsated regularly through them.
His hand settled upon an intestine, one that had once belonged to a human, and he yanked the wet and sopping mess of bloody flesh upwards with him, curling it slightly into a noose. He sprinted back towards the giant who awaited, hammer at the ready to smash him to ribbons. He prepared to swing, expecting for the Avriel to attempt to juke about him once more, but that couldn’t be farther from the truth. Instead, he charged directly at him, leaping forth into the air and sending his twilight wing flashing into the air behind him, propelling him upwards to the giant’s shoulders. He quickly wrapped the aforementioned meat noose about his neck, and slid down his shoulder blades, allowing it to catch on his throat. Without a waste of time, he lashed out backwards with his primary hand, letting it catch on the back of the fiend’s knees, blasting boney fragments through his left knee and sending him lurching for a steady foothold. The giant screamed bloody murder, but found the wet rope yanking him backwards, off of his legs and nearly atop the now crimson-covered Noth.
The intestines burst from the pressure, scattering undesirable matter upon the giant who attempted to scramble to his feet, only to find that his knee had been terribly broken. The others would try to intervene now that their champion had been lowered, and so he knew that he needed to act fast in order to maintain his advantage. He flung the mace harshly towards the shadowy figure, bruising his arm and sending him tumbling back into the wall. Without a second thought, he lifted up the Warhammer, feeling it strain his muscles with every trill that he needed to keep grasp of it.
The pig-like man knew his fate, lifting his arms upwards to stop the blow, but it simply powered through it, landing upon his head with a wet slinking noise. With the champion dispatched, he immediately dropped the Warhammer, feeling a great weight lift off of his body as it fell atop its former owner. The pair of remaining poachers exhibited some manner of shock at the recent events, and the twilight hybrid’s crimson eyes settled upon the shadowy man as he turned tail and sprinted towards the exit, apparently having seen enough to make his conclusions.
There was no rest. There was no time to rest, no moment to stop his bloodshed. He drew forth a hunting knife, allowing it to settle into his hands, attempting to ignore the blood that now coated them and the squelching noise that he made whenever he took a step.
There were no words. The two combatants rushed towards each other, the deserter lashing out with his rapier, and Noth allowing the blow to strike against his hauberk. He knew that it would be impossible for the pitiful knife to go through the man’s armor, and that meant that the entirety of his torso and abdomen were out of the question. There was only really one place that he could strike.
There was no pain. When the rapier slid back through the air, and then promptly jammed through his thigh, nearly piercing through to the other side, the skin stretching slightly to try to accommodate the large foreign object. One hand grasped onto his shoulder for support, the other sliding through the air with a deadly retort.
There was no man. The knife thrust through his neck, piercing upwards so that it could be seen when he gasped, poking through the soft and weak flesh that he had left unguarded. He fell to the ground, and Noth stumbled backwards, removing the metallic instrument from his leg with an ungodly shriek of agony, his vision turning the color of his eyes as he struggled to fight back the feeling. His feathers acted as a natural bandage to the wound, but they were not enough, and he quickly began to strip away at his own clothes, slicing off woolen sleeves in order to stuff them into the stab wound. The bleeding slowed fairly quickly, apparently having missed many of the important arteries through some manner of luck or chance; he knew it was not providence.
There was no chance. No chance at all that he would leave behind his only friend, bleeding to death slowly in the dark of a poachers cave, unable to do anything for herself but lay and think about her decisions. She had saved his life twice now, and such was a debt that he could not allow to accrue, and thus he took a strip of the woolen cloth from his clothes and began to press it against her wound, attempting to keep the bleeding low until they might recover enough to find some manner of medical professional. As he waited, the twilight hybrid curled his sole wing about her, protecting her from the outside horrors of the world and whispering sweet nothings into her ear to console her, to keep her from falling away completely.
