Chapter 2: ፈᏂᎥᏒᎮᎥᏁᎶ ᏰᎥᏒᎴᏕ :
Tints circled in a flat field and warriors gathered after their victory, yet minor, men still reveled in their victory. Stale ale was served in barrels, and many a drunk warrior laughed amongst one another.
"Ay Dove, You look light as a ᎦᏋᏗᏖᏂᏋᏒ" spoke the boastful Crow, smirking lightly. "Wit'outcha the Storm Cloud's men would've had us hung drawn and quartered." The young man said bursting out in laughter.
Dove snickered lightly, his pale brown face breaking its natural pensive for only a split second before neutralizing once again.
He shook his head, dismissing the compliment, before walking off. Leaving his cup of ale untouched.
"Ay, where ya goin'?" Crow said, tracing behind his movements, his grip firm on his cup handle.
Dove led Crow down a dirt road path, outside of the encampment, where the sounds of the partying soldiers grew ever so feint with each step and the sound of whistling winds overtook.
Stopping on a hill with a standalone tree, Dove sat down, releasing a sigh. As he looked up at the now full moon, with deep purple eyes.
"Listen, Dove. .ye' oughta know we can't pull out from our contract with Lord Sol. He promised an awful lot of coin in our pockets if we manage to waver the Storm's Cloud main forces. ."
Dove timidly folded his arms, his eyes still fixated on the moon in full. Its light glowed directly onto his presence, completely exposing his soft features.
"We'll figure something out eh?" Crow spoke in response, deciphering Dove's reasoning with his instinct as he's always done.
Dove was never a speaker, nor spoke, but his presence and leadership led The Skipping Stones to many victories in the past.
With the night falling silent, Crow departed, heading back to the tents below. . .
The calling bell sang at dawn, its fierce chime waking many from their drunken state. Mercs of plenty gathered their belongings, broke down tents, and prepared for travel.
After the previous skirmish, their organization needed to be swift and effortless. The Stormcloud's generals were ones to act opportunistically, with no hesitation to cut throats at night.
Hooves rattled the beaten path down a plain of rolling hills, the grass, once a healthy fertile green, was now brown, no different from the dirt its roots sprouted from. Dove rode at the front of the pack, upon his long loyal steed Bellator, a pale farming horse. Alongside him rode his trusted colleagues and commanders: First was Crow, Dove's most trusted commander, he wore a blackened steel armor plate brandished with two crows crossing each other at the neck, and he bore a nobles longsword at his hip, despite being low-born, and mounted a black horse, Fickle, he was much larger than Dove's.
"I'm surprised ye' ain't burning up in that armor of yours, Hoggy," said Crow, smirking past his hedged helm
Riding on Crow's hip was Hog or Hogar, a plump red-faced man. With a haughty contagious laugh, and a red untamed mane grown on his face. Custom armaments were called for by the company's smith, due to his rather overbearing stature. Though, none would be brave enough to say that in his presence.
"YE said wot!? Dirty Bird?" Hog said, clenching a chunk of metal attached to a fortified pole that he called a Warhammer. However, to Dove it was more like a rock on a stick, hitting harder than a dozen rams, but moving like a stick in the mud.
"Simer down you too, the more you argue, the hotter it gets out here." A much softer voice intervened.
"Wat kinda difference would it meke, Robyn?" Hog said running his hand through his sweaty bush.
Robyn splintered the three's shoulder-to-shoulder line, wedging their grey steed in between Crow and Hog's, ceasing their petty bickering. Robyn led the archery unit within the company, despite being the youngest of the commanders at only sixteen, They were of a smaller build and stature, with the average likes of Dove having a few inches over them. Robyn was reserved, calm, and oddly stunning, alluring both men and women. Their face was evenly aligned, with freckles dotted across the center of their face. Their stunning green eyes always wandered, and their short amber-brown hair shimmered in the sunlight, though not as intensely as Dove's silver and much longer locks. Robyn wore much lighter armor, preferring leather over steel, and over their shoulder stood a sturdy great bow their weapon of choice.
"I'd prefer not to hear two man-children with sticks of spikes driven in their rear," Robyn said bluntly.
"Meh rear is void of any sticks. ." spoke Crow, smirking lightly at his self-assured statement.
"Oi! If that chip on your shoulder still stands rigid, I'll make sure that void is filled-"
A sharp whistle erupted from the front of the pack, ending all bandy words to an abrupt halt.
A youthful women's gaze met Dove's; Bellator halted abruptly under his pulling of the reins, and instinctively he whistled. Alarming the rest of the company, causing a stagger in their formation as they gathered control of their horses.
This woman, clearly of common birth, bore no threat. Her dilated eyes of brown watered, and her lips quivered alongside the rest of her body. Dove smelt the faintest scent of blood and dismounted his horse, closing the distance.
"Pleas. ." the women's words erupted airy as she tightened her grip on what remained of a once well-tailored dress brandished in grey. Her dress was sliced precisely down the middle, partially exposing her bosom and her fur down below.
She shielded her parts timidly.
Dove softly offered a hand to the woman, sensing her naivety through the pain in her eye.
"N-no. ." her voice quivered in simultaneous motion with her weak legs. Which were quick to give into a kneel. "N-no more. .p-please." despair erupted from her dried lips.
Robyn dismounted and was the first to offer any aid.
"Do- " their words cracked, cut, and coiled at the dire situation. "BRING FRESH RAGS! NOW!" Robyn demanded.
"Wha?" Hog spoke baffled
"Hurry before blood gets worse, Hogare!"
"Aye!" Hog rode off toward the back of the caravan.
A saturation of red freshly congealed through the light fabrics of the women's dress, revealing a piercing wound that leaked from the center of her torso and exited through her back. The woman collapsed, her lifeless figure landing directly into Dove's hands.
"Who'd do such a thing?" Dove questioned himself manically, his chest tightening in anguish. Why do the innocent die so horrid?
Hog returned to the front of the caravan. He approached accompanied by two other heavily armored mercenaries. Tight within his grip were the rags demanded by Robyn, who now stood in disarray alongside a bewildered and frustrated Dove.
"I've got te' rags?" Hog's tone slowly grew firm as he took in the scene. He solemnly fell silent, wishing that he could retract his statement.
A cloud of silence overtook the prairie and withered fields, offering an opportunity for composure.
"Look there, Dove," Crow said upon his mounted steed.
The smell of burning wood abruptly crept under Dove's nose, but the aroma had been present in the air for a while, merely masked by the iron aroma of blood.
"A fire?" Dove fixated his attention on the smell. He caught glimpse of an unnatural cloud of smoke expanding outward into the sky. Its root leads further down the prairie, only a few gallops away.
". .The Storm Cloud. He's raiding villages along the countryside." Dove thought conclusively.
Crow smirked, seeing the determination in Dove's eyes.
"If we're looking for te' lot that caused this. They'll be there?" Crow said sternly.
To mitigate any risk, Dove ordered a small group to accompany him. Leaving the rest to ensure the innocent woman was buried properly. so that her soul could rest peacefully, riding with him was his utmost trust Crow, Hog, and Robyn. Though, nun rode more fierce then than feathered Dove himself. The burning smoke grew dire, as they came too, and at last, the situation became much clearer. A minor village, littered with buildings, the wooden infrastructure freshly aflame. With a population of roughly 300 Dove inferred. Many lay dead, blood fresh as well.
"The people responsible must still be here. ." Dove said halting his horse by the reins, the others quickly follow suit.
Robyn turned pale at the sight.
"By the White. ." Hog spoke softly.
"An' I thought the Storm Clouds were beyond this. ." Crow's voice held disbelief as his eyes scanned the horizon.
A fearful scream erupted over the silence of the dead, and the group fixated their sights on a distant church, painted pale as the sky. The place of the utmost holy beaconed amongst the dilapidated debris, standing if not gracefully. Instinctively Dove whipped the reins of his steed leaving the others without any other choice but to follow.
"The 'աɧɿԵȝ ρԹɿԳȝ,' our messiah, our prophet, he shall come. The Circle will be complete. How can't you see it?" A shaky voice croaked.
"Enough of your prophecies!" Spoke a husk of a voice.
The Soldier drove his foot into the other gut, swiftly following with a THUD and unusual crunch.
Dove road in closer, unsheathing his blade with a swift motion and pulling at his steed's reins to create a graceful stop.
The two crossed eyes, both strangers, yet they felt a sense of hostile familiarity. The mysterious soldier bore a stubbled face, untamed jet-black hair, and an aura of ice. With dull unsympathizing eyes, frozen at a glance.
". .How. rude." The stranger spoke, positioning his handle on the blade that lay on his hip.
Dove insisted with his blade.
". .Not much of a speaker?" The stranger's words were unwavering.
Amid their exchange, swords clashed. Singing abroad the flame.
The Hawk on the prowl hunts with ferocity, though the Dove had been prey one too many times. Resistance was inevitable.
Blood soaked the floor on the fifth swing, yet both stood fatigued. The stranger smirked, masking his dominant eye, crimson red flowed from underneath, soaking his palm and his armoured plate. Despite this all, his other eye remained the same, expressionless. .
". .Sadly, I'm impressed. You've bested me. ." His once smirk turned into a grimace, a face of perhaps joy. Though, Dove remained unsure.
"We'll meet again and the wings of our blades will clash again. Until then remember the wings of the Hawk."
". .The Hawk?" Dove thought ignorantly.
With such, Hawk departed, disappearing into the shadows of an alley, flames quickly following.
Birds of black sang proudly in gathering, their harmonies echoing throughout the dry silence of the village. The fiery flames extinguished, leaving blackened wood on the infrastructure, many no longer standing. Dove stood amongst the ruin, wincing at the sharp pain in his side. With heavy breaths, he knelt to the Old Man's aid.
The wrinkled elder croaked with a deep gasp. Arising timidly, he stood fragile, with a slightly bent posture. At first glance, Dove inferred that the elder couldn't be much older than eighty. The elder bore a crown of patched hair of unsaturated color, yellow-pigmented skin, and an untamed beard that hung low past his collar. Upon him, he sported humble tattered apparel of cloth, accompanied by a loose band over his eyes. With his wrinkled hands, he tightened his grip around a long brown stick to stabilize himself.
". . .Եɧȝ ՅɿՐԺ ԾԲ աɧɿԵȝ, Ծ'ՏԾ ρԹʅȝ. ." The elder said with airy words. "O' have they've waited for you, my son."
Dove stood detuned of such riddles, and instead, he fixated on the familiar: his horse and reins. Dove mounted the steed and offered a hand to the rather ill-minded elder. Their safety was of utmost importance.
The elder accepted without question, sluggishly securing himself on the back of the horse.
". .Եɧȝ ՅɿՐԺ ԾԲ աɧɿԵȝ, Ծ'ՏԾ ρԹʅȝ. ." The elder's words appeared faint. "Hav' you come to guide the ρԹɿԳȝ ԾԲ ρԹʅȝ ԹՌԺ աɧɿԵȝ?" He followed his words growing fainter.
'. .Guide who?' Dove's mind evaluated the vagueness amid navigating behind the reins. Though to no avail was his understanding. Such words left Dove torn and with many questions. His intuition was swift to rationalize the ill-minded with senile beliefs, yet deeper within the vessel of his mind, he felt a shadowed truth. Sadly his time stood waning, and reluctantly he dismissed his thoughts.
The Skipping Stones amassed back onto the path, packing their temporary encampment and leaving the victimized village behind. They set their sights west, where word of Helinor and his loyalist had resided.
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