1. Faramund

    Private Nightwork

    'For a second, it nearly was.' Returning Syr Hoffren's grin, Faramund scooped up a fistful of straw to clean his blade with. He could still hear fighting outside, the clash and clatter spurring him to forego the ladder and drop from the loft, feet first. His knees buckled as he hit the ground...
  2. Faramund

    Private As Above, So Below

    Faramund felt his nerves grow taut as the silence stretched on, the Vasdaya creaking and groaning as it, quite literally, fell from the skies. What magitech they had stuffed its bowels with was clearly failing, and fast. The result of sabotage, yes and of his own failings. They should have seen...
  3. Faramund

    Private Nightwork

    The mercenary bled quick, his racing heart working against him as he tried one last time to cleave Faramund in twain. Staggering, he fell, landing awkwardly on his side. 'Bas... bas-' His axe slipped from his nerveless fingers as he stared up at the knight, his pale face going slack as his life...
  4. Faramund

    Private Nightwork

    Faramund had never been one for the chain of command, much to their displeasure. 'Syr, yes, syr!' He snarled through gritted teeth, dodging, ducking the axe as it came for him, again and again. The vicious beard was the main threat, always in motion, always a whisker away from dealing the kind...
  5. Faramund

    Private Nightwork

    The term "clusterfuck" came to Faramund's mind as Oliver hit the leader a second time. The dull clang of metal on metal filled the yard, like a blacksmith's hammer striking the anvil. Painfully sharp, it did little to cover the cries of the mercenaries coming to kill them. Six, there were. Not...
  6. Faramund

    Private The Tools of My Enemy

    There was some life left in Castor yet, much to his surprise. Conjuring a grin, Faramund made ready a reply, only for Oliver to beat him to the punch with bitter words and bared fangs. A good man's patience worn thin, or else stretched to its limits. Aye, thought Faramund, the cut of his teeth...
  7. Faramund

    Private The Tools of My Enemy

    Another fight over and done with, another foe vanquished. Why, then, do I feel like I am the one who has lost? Small steps carried Faramund into the clearing. Careful steps. Bebin limped along by his side, one leg mangled, the other barely supporting his weight. Drained, battle-worn, the pair of...
  8. Faramund

    Private The Tools of My Enemy

    Squatting down beside the dusk-bound Pursuant, Faramund examined his injured leg, none too pleased by what he saw. 'You'll make do, eh?' He chuckled quietly. 'Got a spare leg tucked away 'neath that turban of yours, friend Bebin? Or do you plan on hopping back to Astenvale on just the one?'...
  9. Faramund

    Private The Tools of My Enemy

    It was going to end soon, one way or another. Faramund could feel it in his bones. Death creeping up on him, hovering just over his shoulder, waiting for him to slip up and so end this sorry affair for good. Only it wouldn't end, not the way he wanted it to. The Shaper would never let him go...
  10. Faramund

    Private The Tools of My Enemy

    There were more of them coming. Faramund heard them before he saw them. Caught up in their own insanity, they praised the construct as if it was of their God's own design. In reality, it was the Shaper's creature, and it bent to the Shaper's will. Not that those fools knew that, blinded by faith...
  11. Faramund

    Private As Above, So Below

    A nod as the dawnling regarded their ward. 'You did well, lad,' he reassured the youngster, clapping him on the shoulder and steering him away from the carnage. From the blood and ruin. 'These men were here to hurt us. You defended yourself, and came out unscathed, thank Taerah!' Faramund tried...
  12. Faramund

    Private The Tools of My Enemy

    The dawnling could sense Oliver's disquiet, see the suspicion souring his thoughts. The hammer dangling from the orkin's fist was rock solid, Faramund noted, ready to use. At least it'll be over quick, he mused, fighting down a rising sense of guilt. The falsehoods he had told over the years...
  13. Faramund

    Private The Tools of My Enemy

    'I wish... I could believe you.' Shivering in the cold mountain air, Faramund hugged the girl tight to his chest, protecting her from a threat only he could perceive. Dead men and women regarded him from the Mount's open maw. Unmoving. Unblinking. Am I to blame for their suffering? He wondered...
  14. Faramund

    Private The Tools of My Enemy

    Taking Mina in his arms, Faramund followed after Oliver, like a hound might its master. Sounds travelled far and wide, disturbing the senses, and throwing off what little remained of the dawnling's own. We need to hurry, he thought, repeating the words like a mantra, over and over and over again...
  15. Faramund

    Private As Above, So Below

    He bled slowly, this agent. Part man, part machine, he was the perfect representation of what happened when science went too far. Madness flared in his eyes as he ducked and sliced, stabbed and parried. The stump of his severed arm dripped as he forced Faramund back. Blood as black as tar...
  16. Faramund

    Private The Tools of My Enemy

    Faramund did not relax. Could not, in truth. His worst nightmare stalked the passageways before and behind. Always close, always just out of sight. The Shaper. 'I... This is her, yes.' The dawnling fidgeted, uncomfortably hot beneath the folds of his stolen robes. How well they seemed to fit...
  17. Faramund

    Private As Above, So Below

    The lounge plunged into darkness. Swirling, shifting, ink-black smoke filled the nooks and crannies, seeping through cracks, spreading to levels low and high. Figures moved through the cloudy haze, coughing, gagging on the acrid taste in the air, like burnt copper. The Agent closed its eyes as...
  18. Faramund

    Private As Above, So Below

    Crouching down beside the body of his foe, Faramund drew back the man's hood. There was a collective gasp as the officer and the surviving enginseers took in the man's visage. Pale and scarred, cold as a wintry grave. And there, betwixt eyes unseeing, a brand beneath the thin layer of skin...
  19. Faramund

    Private The Tools of My Enemy

    The echoes of battle faded into nothingness as Faramund ran deeper into the Mont, desperation fuelling his thoughts as well as his actions. Memories of what once was shifted into premonitions of what might be. Loyal, loyal. My blood is always loyal. Running, rushing, he cursed as the tunnel...
  20. Faramund

    Private For Whom the Bell Tolls

    He didn't like being in the dark. There was so much about the situation that he did not know, and likely never would. Even so, he could not but agree that Aarno's words held some semblance of sense where there was none. Trust in her, he thought, the pain making him woozy, unsteady on his feet...
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