1. Oliver

    Private The Tools of My Enemy

    There wasn’t another stir in their midst for quite some time, until Syr Theros holding the helm should’ve fallen. Oliver stopped pulling the litter in an instant, but didn’t let go. Instead, he tapped Syr Faramund on the shoulder and adjusted his grip on the litter handles as to take both of...
  2. Oliver

    Private Nightwork

    The man took a turn for the woods and he followed. The animate flash of shroud up ahead hadn’t been lost on him either, quickly deduced as their new heading. No matter how much he wanted to, there was no slowing down, Faramund’s momentary halt having allowed him to merely catch up. In wake of...
  3. Oliver

    Private The Tools of My Enemy

    Talk of haste there was, so haste it would be. He eyed at Bebin as the man stole on the rest of them, already begun away in the Trinemorro’s wake. However he was to keep up with that leg and subpar makeshift means Oliver dared not ask. Neither wanted, frankly, lest he break into some expression...
  4. Oliver

    Private Nightwork

    The rider gave a great roar of pain, almost brought from saddle and tilting upon it. Drawn suddenly off balance, the horse pummeled into Syr Hoffren, sending him to the grass arse akimbo in but an oof and a chime of mail. By some miracle he did manage to hold onto the poleaxe, and to prevent...
  5. Oliver

    Private Nightwork

    The rope snapped beneath the saber. Syr Lionel came to an instant halt, one hand struggling to loose the rope about his neck as he turned to his side in a strangled groan, breath ragged. “ Syr— Ff— Hhh— “ Pain assaulted him, stealing the words from his mouth. He dared not look up at Faramund...
  6. Oliver

    Private Nightwork

    A man shrieked as he was shoved, landing him to the scorching heat of the bonfire. In a wild pang of regret, squinting against the heat, Syr Angre hurried to pull him out, but that only earned him a slash of a knife. It cut through the leather of his glove and the young knight recoiled, cursing...
  7. Oliver

    Private Nightwork

    Sword came for a horned head, approaching horseman eclipsing the entire view. Holding his breath Syr Leinas maneuvered the swing aside with his own sword, continuing the swing to the passing horse’s barrel. It cut at the cinch and then some, drawing a red line into the cream coat. The animal...
  8. Oliver

    Private Nightwork

    Syr Hoffren roared, hefting the axe into another swing at the bastard who was hellbent on gutting him. The man came a little too close for comfort, too daring, forcing him to defensive. That was, before Syr Angre came in with the sword, cleaving into the man’s shoulder. Oliver took score...
  9. Oliver

    Private Nightwork

    What a fucking stealth mission. He drew a breath as the man with his dented helm scurried along the ground, only to be halted permanently by Syr Faramund’s saber. First blood — and how fast did come from a neck, leaving the man gargling underfoot. He could only hear it past the yells and the...
  10. Oliver

    Private Nightwork

    He turned on heel for signal, discreetlike, when the silence broke into a godless racket in one fell swoop. His heart jumped, well felt in his chest as he turned to attention, first in surprise and then outrage. Inside, metal rung, clashing. He stuck two fingers to the edges of his mouth and...
  11. Oliver

    Private The Tools of My Enemy

    A length of linen was a feeble aid, but it was not nothing. He stared down at his hands that worked a simple task, at what felt safe to look upon when meeting eyes was — not? Despite all, he felt his nerves rest in the new, deeper silence, naught but the rustle of leaves underknee and a breeze...
  12. Oliver

    Private The Tools of My Enemy

    The closer he was the tighter became the chains. Shrill sound erupted from what they forced to the ground, restrained to nigh immobility despite the struggle yet in those great limbs. Was it fear or was he just imagining it? Could something made to cause terror actually feel it? What sort of a...
  13. Oliver

    Private The Tools of My Enemy

    Though he was much too weary and terrified, he opened up the visor to the cold air and breathed in, lingering an additional second. Truly unsure whether he ought to have just staid down here, laid to rest for these last little moments. The dirt shook, sinking beneath a step as Death approached...
  14. Oliver

    Private The Tools of My Enemy

    To the great luminance slipped a spell that’d bind the many-eyed monster to a world of agony. Heaving for breath within so much silent armour, he barely kept from stumbling in his hurry to back away from the thrashing, of limbs and a gaze that once saw everything and now saw nothing. Metal...
  15. Oliver

    Private The Tools of My Enemy

    There was a lot more weight and height meeting him than he’d anticipated, but by some miracle the thing still staggered on impact, launched to a scurry belongst to neither animal nor insect, but a grotesque combination of both. Where the hammer had struck twice in quick sequence, piercing skin...
  16. Oliver

    Private The Tools of My Enemy

    He took the denial like a brickwall, unimpressed and expressionless for it. By some miracle there was strength yet in the weary, newfound, like his very offer should’ve been an insult. Maybe it had been. In tune they stood and he relented his watch upon the pair, rotating on heel to see what...
  17. Oliver

    Private The Tools of My Enemy

    Something was and remained hideously off. They may have broken outside, surfaced from a dream — a nightmare — to where the trees promised shelter and the realm opened again as far as the eye could see, but nothing had changed. Not the exhaustion about them, not the sobs of little more than...
  18. Oliver

    Private The Tools of My Enemy

    A yes. All that he could’ve wanted in such a simple thing — one word to open the world, to allow exit from the forsaken dark. And yet— How they would linger, for so many precious seconds, but not out of temerity. He found himself moored almost against his will, caught up in the sight of it...
  19. Oliver

    Private The Tools of My Enemy

    The man looked feral. Wild in the eyes, uncharacteristically skittish and disoriented, clutching both bloodied sabre and the body he’d brought along. That the child, then? Trinemorro. His gaze traced the response and gesture, brief and unhelpful as they were. Back there — Wherein a fight of...
  20. Oliver

    Private The Tools of My Enemy

    Why hadn’t he spoken up, asked for— anything, something more? It was very unlike himself to go anywhere completely blind, let alone to somewhere as this on the word of a man he felt like he barely knew, but one had to suppose a wanton weakness of spirit. Did he still want to die, as he’d figured...
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