08-16-2016, 06:09 PM
"Damn neophytes!" None of the opponents attacking the mercenary had learned anything useful about fighting, and they were telegraphing their attacks like nobody's business. Ambrose's pommel struck a soldier between her eyes right as her shield bashed him in the gut. The air whooshed out of his lungs in a groan, but he regained his breath and whirled to the right in time to catch an axe on the quillions of his longsword. He reached forward to grapple, but ironically, this soldier had experience, or at least some training or instincts. Ambrose gripped the man's ax handle just as he felt the man grab his sword's hilt. The mercenary raised a leg and kicked out with it, smashing his booted heel into his crotch. Having not expected this, the Lycian reeled back, keeping hold of his ax with one hand and his groin with the other. Ambrose had missed the opportunity to strike his head in order to keep a grip on his sword, but a javelin flew from somewhere behind him and struck him in the thigh. From where Ambrose stood, he judged that the thrown lance had cut open the artery. The Lycian was dead without a healer.
A shrill scream of pain had sounded from behind him, as well as the sound of a sword hitting the cobblestone, when the javelin had flown past. He turned around, raising his blade to the quick guard, and noticing the helm-less woman from before, clutching a bleeding gash on her cheekbone. She was surprisingly pretty, though from her scream she'd never been wounded before. Weaponless and facing an experienced opponent, she gritted her teeth, scowling at him.
Ambrose jabbed her in the diaphragm with his right hand, prepped his sword, and thrust the pommel into the exact same spot. She hunched over, then collapsed. She'd be sore thereabouts for weeks, but she'd live. And with that, there were no more opponents. He looked at the heavily armored lefty who'd addressed him. "Hmm... You do look familiar," the mercenary sheathed his sword, rubbing his chin through his short beard. "Bah, we can figure out who's who later," he decided. The mercenary walked up to Yuri and hefted the Keeper up on his shoulder. "Right now we need to make ourselves scarce, before the rest of the army decides to track down the ones who attacked and killed some soldiers in this division. Does anyone know of a place to hide, or should we pick a direction and start running?"
A shrill scream of pain had sounded from behind him, as well as the sound of a sword hitting the cobblestone, when the javelin had flown past. He turned around, raising his blade to the quick guard, and noticing the helm-less woman from before, clutching a bleeding gash on her cheekbone. She was surprisingly pretty, though from her scream she'd never been wounded before. Weaponless and facing an experienced opponent, she gritted her teeth, scowling at him.
Ambrose jabbed her in the diaphragm with his right hand, prepped his sword, and thrust the pommel into the exact same spot. She hunched over, then collapsed. She'd be sore thereabouts for weeks, but she'd live. And with that, there were no more opponents. He looked at the heavily armored lefty who'd addressed him. "Hmm... You do look familiar," the mercenary sheathed his sword, rubbing his chin through his short beard. "Bah, we can figure out who's who later," he decided. The mercenary walked up to Yuri and hefted the Keeper up on his shoulder. "Right now we need to make ourselves scarce, before the rest of the army decides to track down the ones who attacked and killed some soldiers in this division. Does anyone know of a place to hide, or should we pick a direction and start running?"
Thank you Destin, for the awesome mug of Ambrose.