1. 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...
  2. 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...
  3. 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...
  4. 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...
  5. 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...
  6. 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...
  7. 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...
  8. 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...
  9. 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...
  10. 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...
  11. 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...
  12. 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...
  13. 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...
  14. 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...
  15. 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?'...
  16. 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...
  17. 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...
  18. 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...
  19. 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...
  20. 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...
Back
Top Bottom