1. Faramund

    Private The Tools of My Enemy

    'Oh, aye! Would you like a cup of tea, first?' A brave bastard, was Bebin. A good friend, too. Is that why this hurts so much? Faramund wondered, going against the grain and doing as bid. Of all the brethren, Syr Bebin was perhaps the closest thing he had to a brother. Not many would have stood...
  2. Faramund

    Private For Whom the Bell Tolls

    Faramund huffed an amused laugh. 'Svala, eh? Well, at least I can have a half-decent conversation... with her.' He grinned, though even that hurt. Bloody spirits! Farren owed them both a drink for the shit her cousin had put them through. 'Fuckin' Urbos.' Staring up at the lighthouse, the...
  3. Faramund

    Private As Above, So Below

    The decking jumped and lurched. Slipping on blood-slick timbers, Faramund went down on one knee, then all fours as the ship continued to shake and buck, like a beast of burden driven too hard for too long. Bodies flailed for purchase as the Vasdaya heaved skyward. Faramund saw more than a few...
  4. Faramund

    Private As Above, So Below

    Fire licked at Faramund's boots as he pressed in to meet the vanguard, unafraid. His sabre caught the shroudweaver in the neck. Muscle and sinew were no match for tempered steel. The shroud-fire eating at the ship's decking went out, the officer's direct intervention a godsend for the men and...
  5. Faramund

    Private The Tools of My Enemy

    'Change,' he repeated the word, as if it had not crossed his mind. That is what I am afraid of. He was in the process of becoming something... other. Evil, he was not, but the monster within knew no reason. Nor would it listen should he choose to resist, as he had tried to do before. Many a time...
  6. Faramund

    Private Nightwork

    The blast didn't knock him out, and for that he was grateful. Thrown nigh twenty feet from the trail, he had landed amongst the brush with a curse and a cry, the latter pinching off as the ground punched the breath from his lungs. The wall of heat took the rest. Gasping, his beard singed, ears...
  7. Faramund

    Private The Tools of My Enemy

    The tears continued to fall as the Midnight Sun passed over the plains of Khurun, a silvery beacon against the true dark beyond. Bathed in its light, head down, Faramund felt as if a great blanket had settled across his shoulders. Warm. Comforting in its familiarity. It didn't take the pain...
  8. Faramund

    Private The Tools of My Enemy

    If Oliver was hoping for some kind of a response, he wouldn't get one. Motionless, the doppler's blank visage was a testament to Faramund's woes. Whatever light lingered there, behind the eyes, was one bad day away from being snuffed out for good. If not for symbiotic relationship they shared...
  9. Faramund

    Private The Tools of My Enemy

    'Maybe. Likely. But it won't be me.' That was the point. An end to all things. For a time, at least. Memory was a fickle thing. Faramund remembered next to nothing of his past life, or lives. Why should this time be any different? It won't be me, he promised himself again, when I'm gone, it'll...
  10. Faramund

    Private The Tools of My Enemy

    My mistakes? My guilt? Faramund could not help but smile. 'None of us are as we were before,' he replied, wiping the expression from his face. Oliver was a stoic. He would not see the humour in his words. Perhaps that was what made it so funny to begin with. The sword lying in the dirt near...
  11. Faramund

    Private The Tools of My Enemy

    At first, Faramund did not obey. Relief mingled with resistance to the spoken order. What this it? Would Oliver do as asked and deliver the mercy stroke, or would whatever sense of fellowship remained stay his hand? For they had been kith, once. Not so much friends as allies bound by common...
  12. Faramund

    Private The Tools of My Enemy

    'She doesn't find us safe,' agreed Faramund, the knife still clutched firmly in his hand. 'Why do you think that is, brother?' Raising his eyes until they found Syr Oliver's, the dawn-thing posed a question he already knew the answer to. The trinemorro knew, also. So careful, so cautious, and...
  13. Faramund

    Private The Tools of My Enemy

    'I know, but it's that or a knife twixt the ribs,' came the dawnling's reply, no longer knowing whether he was joking or not. In the Mount, all his fears had been focused down to one tiny point. But out under the open sky, they had room to grow, to fester, as he feared Bebin's leg might, given...
  14. Faramund

    Private The Tools of My Enemy

    The walking dead, that's what they were. Four injured and ailing knights following after their rescuee, with no hint as to where they were or where they were heading. So long as it's away from the Mount, thought Faramund, each breath a struggle, every step a marathon. They had been on the move...
  15. Faramund

    Private Nightwork

    The bandit hoofed it, and Faramund gave chase. 'I got him!' He called out to Oliver, hopping the tripwire, Breklinn's safety now somebody else's priority. The runner jinked and dived, put on a fresh burst of speed. The darkness swallowed him, only to spit him back out a moment later, his cuirass...
  16. Faramund

    Private As Above, So Below

    The call came down from the top deck. Raiders on the approach. Another part of the cult's plan or just bad luck? Faramund had to wonder, acknowledging Bebin's order with a curt nod. He closed the door behind him as he left. The two marines flanking him shared a look, their weapons already bared...
  17. Faramund

    Private Nightwork

    Fire lit the skies above the farmstead. Dancing higher, it threw its arms wide, wider still. Fingers of flame reached out to touch dry timbers and mouldering straw. Smoke stung the eyes and throats of those who wandered too close, a not-so-gentle warning to stay away lest you burn too. Faramund...
  18. Faramund

    Private The Tools of My Enemy

    The deed was done, or so they believed. The girl had been rescued. Now, all they had to do was make it home in one piece. If I even have a home to crawl back to, thought Faramund, smiling away his woes as Castor clambered aboard the litter, halfway to dead but stubbornly resisting. As always...
  19. Faramund

    Private Nightwork

    Grabbing Syr Lionel by the arm, Faramund half-pulled, half-dragged his fellow knight towards the treeline as the fight ebbed and flowed around them. Firelit chaos, it was a struggle discerning friend from foe, each loping shadow a potential threat to their continued existence. He knew Oliver was...
  20. Faramund

    Private Nightwork

    Faramund had half a mind to tell Angre to shut his gob. 'I had my reasons,' he replied instead, following Kärki's example, and trying to diffuse the situation before it got out of hand. 'There are women in the farmhouse. They need help.' Freeing, more like. The mercenaries had them trussed up...
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