Zalan

Zalan

Fire Breather
Character Profile
Profile
Night hung dark across the sky, and the fires about the camps burned bright against the belt's feint glow. Companies of Ceax, the Iron Fists and Red Hares, were tasked with harrying an expeditionary force of Legionnaires, making their way overland. Past the knotted rivers, and north.

Too close to free state lands. Too far beyond the contested line in the sand that kept the Cities feeling some modicum of safety. A security born from an illusion of propriety.

Inside the command tent, Zalan dragged on his smoke. Its cherry burned bright, and he could feel its warmth heat about his nose and lips. He let out the purple smoke in a wash.

"So, Salamander, you and your men can blow the bridge, whence the Legion's troops have made over the span," The commander of the Fists spoke gruffly. His Ring Steel plate gleamed in the soft light of shroudstone lamps, and he pointed at a spot on the map. The thin tributary that would force the imperials to use the old stone bridge.

"S'a lot of shard you're asking us to move," Zalan said simple like. His eyes measuring the ditance between their camp, the bridge, and the imperial camp on the other side.

"We can't chance a raid across the bridge to cover, but a small unit, like your sappers,"

Zalan clicked his teeth. "We're hired on for Weave work, Gendry, weave work," he took a longer drag this time. Let the smoke out of his nose in fast gouts. "This'll cost you extra," he croaked. Raised a single finger as he looked to the Iron Fist commander. "Sayin we take the job, and all,"

Commander looked to his officers, and the leaders of the Hares.

"You leave, and you're listed, Zalan," Captain Altuya of the Hares said. Teeth bared, like a dog guarding his meal. "Ceax won't come calling for you, or the Cabal any time soon,"

Zalan looked to the man, narrow eyed and tired. "You ain't got the weight behind you to make that kind of promise, Captain," his eyes flit back to the commander of the operation. "So, Prityin?"

Commander Prityin's face was like stone. His brows, tight with worry. "You'll have your hazard pay, Salamander,"

"Then you'll have your bridge, Commander," he gave a nod, and made his way out of the tent.

Outside, big bastards suited in heavy armor guarded the tent. Not an inch of leather to be seen beneath the black iron that shelled them. Didn't stop Cutter from lookin any meaner.

The big Salamander, with the bright fire-lizard sprawled upon a patch at his shoulder, grumbled at the guards, and followed behind his captain. "It sounds like we'll have some chop ahead of us,"

Zalan laughed. "Putting it lightly, Cutter," he pulled a drag on his smoke. "Let's hope we can keep even half the new talent alive through this one,"

Cutter grumbled.
 
'1 2 3 4... 1 2 3 4..'
Per every count he shaved down the layered clay on his homemade explosives. Ignored by his seniors; Tool had completed his assessment and report of the horses and the digging of latrines. Now he concentrated on making his toys more applicable to their 8-ball situation. Did he know what was coming? Of course not, Tool only believed bad luck followed him wherever he went. From accidentally blowing up half a noble's mansion to being good at making bombs and bread. Was it his love of numbers? Or the innate understanding like an engineer to manufacture and destroy things and people.

To his right by the firelight, several officers huddled together shuffling knuckle bones. Another clatter of bones and someone cussed and spit into the dirt near Tool's backpack. Ignoring the situation Tool set the bomb down slowly into its container securing it in place. Grabbing the bag it was set on his opposite side and out of flems way.

"I'll be damned Ignis you've won every hand tonight. You must be blessed."
Tanker grunted as he picked up the dice and bones and threw them again. Root was a large sonuvabitch, sitting like a boulder against the firelight. Ignis was smaller in comparison and more slender, across from him sat Junk who had spit near Tool's bag.

"Man's been blessed by the gods I tell yah. A true Gifter right here." Snickered Goose as he placed a bottle down in the mix. Grinning broadly Root knew that Goose was out of coin and licked his lips. "An you not so much friend. Out of gold are we?" Leaning forward the large man clapped Goose on the shoulder as the latter grumbled.

Tool hid his grin as he remembered his first night gambling with Goose using cards. The man wasn't terrible just not a good cheater. Tool had his cards Ignis had his dice. "THATS IT! IGNIS OPEN YOUR DAMNED CLOAK! YOU MUST BE CHEATING YOU BASTARD" Goose jumped to his feet pointing at Ignis who merely smiled sly and shook his head. Goose huffed in irritation before looking towards the command tent. Seeing Captain Zalan and Sergant Cutter approach he stood at attention.

Following suit other rose as the duo got closer and stood at attention. The bottle of alcohol disappeared into Ignis's robe with ease. Tool cleaned his knife off stowing it back in his belt. All saluted and waited for Zalan and Cutters words to the crew.
 
A laugh came from Zalan's throat. "Feelin proper tonight, Salamanders," he nod, and clipped a quick salute in return.

Cutter gave a grunt.

Zalan eyed the sappers he had brought with him for this contract. Two Hands, as the Emeberic Cabal liked to call them, of the Salamander Squadron's total six. About twelve men in total. Not counting himself and Cutter. "Company commander has asked us to take out the bridge," he eyed each man in turn. Ended on their explosives specialist. "Doing what we do best," a proud smile there beneath his lip.

Sergeant Cutter rolled his shoulder. Growled. "We are going to rig that thing to blow, "

A few of the men grinned. Some of them were smart enough to worry.

Zalan drew closer to the fire, pulled a half burnt stick out from the crackle and hiss of golds and reds. Fire tongues at the end of it hissed as he swiped it down and stuck the flames into the dirt. Sharp lines and quick circles were drawn into the dirt.

"We," he pointed to two circles, surrounded by squares, "Are going to move, tonight, and rig the bridge to blow," he drew lines toward the drew little exes on the legs of the scrawled bridge. "Cutter will lead the Second Hand to rig the bridge,"

"Our job will be to move Tool's goods, and rig them for the morning," Cutter affirmed.

"First Hand, with me, will take care of any eyes that might be on the bridge." Zalan drew some triangles where the enemy camp would be. Arrows some space away from them in a standard Imperial array. "Sabotage some of those lovely shroud-scorpions the Imperials are so proud of," his teeth showed, hungry at the idea.

"We've already dented their number of Weaver's in the skirmishes so far," the narrow eyed Sergeant reminded them.

Zalan nod. Pointed "Second will give us the signal to retreat, and we get out of there as loudly as we can," his eyes looked up to scan his Salamanders. "Questions?" he almost teased.
 
"No sir! Sappers get to work! It's time to give 'em a show!" Laughed rumbled through the Squad as they broke formation and got to work.

Tool perked up and gave a toothy grin. Wagging a finger in the air he gestured to four crates and two backpacks. Within the crates were a few experimental spikes he had set up for fun. In the backpacks were a mix of disks to be buried and a few orbs to toss by hand.

"Careful Lads or a bump may be your last! Take those stickers to the base and implant them in the legs. Take these torchers in hand and keep them on you to throw as well. Lastly, bury the shockers at the bridge approach on the enemy side." Grinning broadly Tool nearly pranced as he grabbed the heavy crossbow. Checking the mechanism thoroughly he found no issue shouldering the weapon. Taking up his shortsword he hummed a small tune.

Spitting in the dirt Goose mumbled something before grabbing the nearest crate with Ignis. Tanker shouldered one by himself with ease and care. Tool shouldered the bag of shockers he had been working on earlier. These would need to be placed on their retreat back to the company. Gods forbid anyone managed to cross the gap that was soon to appear at least they would be prepared.

"Oh, don't forget.. Don't slot those stakes in too hard. You'll set 'em off before we even get clear." Wagging one finger he waited while others rolled their eyes at his comments. Yes, they had trained with these items before. Waves of anxiety flowed over the recruits as they clumsily got ready to march. The more seasoned troop went about the customary breakdown with haste.

Once Cutter's Hand was ready they moved without delay. Time was of the essence.
 
They moved across the field, draped in cloaks runed with armonium ink. The careful patterns lined and freshly painted not a night ago, kept them better hidden from a weaver's shrouded' eyes.

Truth of it was, the armonium ink was vile stuff. Stung the skin, and was hell if it got in your eyes. Not to mention the heavy scent of rust that seemed to sink into the lungs. But it beat catching a bolt slung from a weaver's wand. Something about the star-dust ink made the light bend funny around the cloak. Almost seemed to drink it in. As if it wrapped shadows about the wearer.

One thing was for certain. Zalan was glad for them. Stink, sting and all.

Over the days of fighting that had taken place upon the Palinno plains, the Salamanders had learned that there was a certain way that the wind ate away at the earth out here. They read signs in the soil where old floods had dug out channels, and carved slopes across a land that seemed so near flat. They marked these down, along with patches of tall grass where herders had not yet gotten their flocks to graze. Thickets and brambles they sent a few rooks to thin, so they might have better exit lanes come a bad clash.

That treachery was their business, meant the Salamanders had taken copious notes. Drawn crude maps that had been passed about the veterans. Explained to those rooks smart enough to listen. But only time would tell if the green horns would pay it any mind. Or if luck would keep them around long enough to make any use of it.

"Low and slow, Salamanders," Zalan whispered to his First Hand as they snaked their way across the terrain. The tributary ahead of them, the distant glow of Imperial camp fires, orange upon the plum sky just beyond the hills. The shallow bend in the river looked just as dark in the light of the moons. He turned to look for Cutter's Hand at their flank. Mocked a night bird's call.

A call came back.

Zalan nod.

They forded the river. Hustled quick behind the cover of boulders and washed up logs that lazed upon the banks. Quick snaps of the hand, and wrist motioned for Tool. Another cut of the fingers gave the signal. Guards ahead. On patrol in the distance.
 
The bitter scent of armonium was something Tool enjoyed. Coupled with the shadowing effect, it was something he planned on using. His lips cracked into a crazed smile, as he observed Zalan's hands. 'Guards ahead aye?' Wrinkling his nose lightly the man crouched further into the shadows. Keeping the heavy crossbow cradled Tool wormed his way forward.

As he approached downwind from the shadowed figures, Tool counted two of them. Reaching into the cloak, he produced a handful of hand-crafted caltrops, each coated with fast-acting sleeping herbs. Staying lower, he tossed them out into the medium grasses, far enough away to prevent torch light and the smell of armonium from endangering them.

Taking a stone Tool skipped it just behind the trap; getting their attention the men moved in unison. Stepping slowly and carefully their eyes were trained on the deep darkness looking for their prey. As they entered the thicker grasses, their boots found his homemade caltrops. A spring popped up from within the device, driving the coated spike through fabric and flesh. Grunts followed by subtle clicks from the other caltrops; turning back Tool signaled it was all clear to advance as he beckoned to two more men to grab the sleeping guards and bind them. Being sure to not leave a large trail they carried their bodies further into the darkness.

Observing both men he checked their pockets and pouches for money and documents. Gagging them both, he bound their ankles and wrists, the other man he called placed two needles in each of their neck disabling their ability to speak. Ushering the other two forward with Zalan, Tool placed two loaves of oddly shaped bread in their midst. A little prize for them to enjoy at a later point.

Resuming the mission, Tool brought up the rear once more leaning into the shadows of the boulders and the logs.
 
A nod from the Captain, and he scanned over his shoulder, down to the riverbanks, where in the other hand of Salamanders moved up the shoreline, cover to cover, but painted by the moon all the same. Shadow's long against the ripple of the water, even with their cloaks.

Curse the moons.

If he could see them.

His eyes shift over to where he figured the scorpion nests might be. Saw the gleam of a shroud-bolt there at the end of the imperial artillery. Too early Grit his teeth, whipped his hands forward, left cupped over right as knuckle bones point towards the target. Pressed thumb to middle and held the tension there in his bones. Ready to snap and let loose the weave-work he set to coil in his mind.

"East and North, just upon that rise there," he whispered hushed to his hand. "Scorpion's nest, hasn't spotted Cutter's hand yet," his eyes scanned for the second nest Imperial doctrine mandated cover the first. No sign yet. "We close the gap, then crash hard, crash loud, on my signal,"

He advanced, low to the ground with his hands outstretched before him, one hand tight, the other loose. Each breath he pulled felt the heavier, felt the harder with each stride he prowled forward. Shroud stirring in his mind as he saw the traces of it gather about his pressed fingers, there beneath the hood of his left hand.

The ark night air about his hands, blue and cold, turned purple and red, orange and gold as it shift through the spectrum of visible light, and all those hues there between them. Even an amateur weaver would feel it. Any eye could see it. A snap of the finger, and the shroud-work split into the air. A bolt of colorless heat, sent fly through the night and into crystal so distant.

The scorpion bolt glowed bright. Cracked as the soliders there shouted their surprise.

A boom, not ten bounds from where Zalan's Salamander's sprang. A bloom of purple flames, shift blue to green as tongues licked up at the air and waved against the darkness of the night.

The soliders did what they could to put it out. Cried faulty crysal. Cried to cover the munitions in the dunsteel sheets.

Nests came in teams of six. Some part of Zalan thought as his legs pumped across the field. Cloak a-snap behind him.
 
Tool hummed as he brought up the rear, adjusting his bolts; he had several that were bulbed with enough weight to not splinter in his crossbow. Slinging the heavy crossbow off, he slotted two of his other creations into place. Zalan had begun his assault on the first nest, Tool kept his eyes out for the second. As the cries arose, Tool perched himself between two boulders on the river's edge, lying flat against the light.

When the lights went off, Tool's vision improved, and seeing the second nest, he did not hesitate to fire. The frame quaked as the first bulbed quarrel flew through the air, striking against the frame of the Scorpion. Shattering the clay head, dormant powder went active upon meeting the air. Cries turned to coughing as he adjusted his aim and fired again, striking home on the other side of the nest. More sleep powder was sprayed into the air, creating a small haze. Even though they were downwind of the other post, the cloud dissipated before reaching the first nest.

Soon their cries fell silent, their throats constricting as a neuroparalytic took hold of their brain. Loading a third quarrel, this one was not so friendly. With a wedged head, he aimed once more, this time covering Zalan's approach to the first nest. Another heavy thud was heard as the quarrel flew past Zalan and into one of the scorpion's arms, forcing it to crack and snap from the pressure. Another one was let loose, striking the other arm to reduce its functionality further.

Tool did not wait for the others, keeping an eye on Zalan and the crew invading the first nest, he hummed to himself while adding another wedge head quarrel to the heavy crossbow bow, aiming once more. If any one of their hand came close to dying, some poor fool would get chest-crushed for trying.

'It's a lovely day in the neighborhood.'
 
Five Salamanders crested the earthen pit of the nest. The imperial soldiers there in, busy with their work to put out the shroud fire that hissed and spat as it clung to whatever wood and cloth it had found itself on. Orders barked frantic. Shovels crunched into earth, spilled it over the multicolored fire. An arm of the scorpion cracked as heavy crossbow bolt split in, the tension on the ropes pulled it to split and fling across the confined space.

One Arshakan caught by the debris.

Swords out, clubs out, Zalan and his crew fell into the ditch busting. Pommels thumped against skulls, club shaft cracked against ribs as weight and momentum slammed men into the walls of felled trees. Violent work. Quick work. Dry.

An Arshakan went for his sword on the ground. Zalan put a blade on him. The soldier's eyes widened at the end of the steel point as it hovered there before him. Zalan motioned with his weapon as tongues of shroud fire hissed and crackled. "Slide it over," he growled in the din.

Ink and the others were already busy tying up the downed survivors.

"Traitorous dog," the soldier hissed. Pushed the blade across the dirt between them.

A smile split across Zalan's lips. A whack down atop the man's head with the silvered pommel of his straight blade, and the solider went down.

"Tie these fuckers up, and put the fires out," he called clear through the low din.

"Cap!" A salamander called through the quick rustle.

Zalan moved over. Careful about the fire. Saw the young man on the ground, a chunk of scorpion arm lodged into his side.

"Poor fucker's good as gone I reckon," Old Leto grumbled with a shake of his head.

Sword still in hand. Zalan stepped clean and thrust the blade into the kid's heart. Two hands pushed it further through the bone.
 
Even in with the best intentions one can not prevent tragedy. When the conflict died down and the first nest was secured, Tool rose and hustled into the nest. Toothy smile turned sour at the loss of life, in truth it was his own fault.

Zalan had given him the highest mercy so he did not suffer. An honorable man that Captain Zalan was. Tool admired him more this night.

Starring from the broken Scorpion he regarded the chunk in the lads side. Blood had already pooled, their life extinguished in their own honorable service.

Gesturing to those he could, he signaled for them to tie up the sleeping members in the other nest. Setting the heavy cross bow down the lad crawled to the corpse on his knees. Taking two coins out he closed the wide open eyes. Placing them over the lids he pulled the wood out of the side and tore some of the man's shirt.

Doing his best to secure the wound, Tool took the man's sword and layed it upon his chest clasping both cooling hands around it. All who see war should die with their swords. Liquid rolled down his cheek from a single tear.

"I'm sorry Captain.. You said no casualties." Tool mumbled lightly placing a regular piece of bread on the man's chest. A meal for his soul to pass over with.

"I will see you on the otherside when it is my time soldier." Speaking gently Tool turned grabbing the heavy Crossbow he slung it back over his shoulder. Somehow Tool looked a bit smaller for now. Withdrawn into himself, calculating, measuring adjusting his process.

"Soon.. We shall all return to dust."
 
A grumble from beneath the amronium-ink stained hood as Zalan stood by Tool.

The kid had a sentimental streak in him. Zalan couldn't tell if if bothered him just yet. No. It was more the why it bothered him he couldn't quite figure out. Because he liked the young blade? Or because it made him think on how he need do better? And would needing do better get them all killed?

A bitter click of teeth.

Best to just be quiet, and let the baker get on with his ritual. He turned his head toward the other prisoners. Saw the reverence in their eyes for the small play of humanity. The Ceremony.

Soon... we shall all return to dust.

Zalan looked back to the dead youth. Kid looked younger than Tool by a half.

He nod to the dead boy. "We like aren't far behind," he said, and turned to go. "Rig the scorpion to blow, grab the best looking steel from this living lot, and lets high tale it back to the second hand!" he called out.

On the double time back across the field, through the tall grass, there was a rumble that could be felt through the soft soil beneath their feet.

"Cavalry, Cap! Over the hill!"

A snap glance over the shoulder. He could see the gleam of armor and spears. The mass of riders in formation.

"To the bridge! Move! Move!" Zalan said without missing a beat. "Fan wide! Don't stop!" he said as they raced across the grass.

One nest detonated into a technicolor ball of shroud fire. Then the second.

The riders rode on. Only a pair of horses scared into a crash.
 
During the Scorpion Assault....

Everything went relatively smoothly as Cutter's hand split from the group and weaved its way unseen to the bridge. Glancing overhead, there were no patrolling guards to disturb this painting. When the boxes opened, there were long-nosed spikes, their edges engraved with runes. Working in pairs, they began hammering the spikes gently into place. Within each pair, there was a mallet hand-carved with runes and implanted shroud shards in a rune pattern on the face of the hammer. Having been tested before, the men followed as Tool had instructed beforehand.

"Remember, the shroud shards will amplify your force to stick the stakes and drain the shroud shards into the spikes to increase the explosive power. The heads will dissolve with the shroud stone, leaving the handle in place. There are two sides, so don't worry about needing to replenish often." was all that Tool shared with the men as they hammered the stakes into the foundation, Pier, and arches with a few in the earthly walls. As Tool had explained so the work was done, the drained shroud energy compiled in wait for the proper ignition. The boxes were left empty and abandoned while the handles were stashed inside of pockets and belts.

During the Scorpion Rigging....

Tool had taken leave of the two nests, leaving the others with the explosives needed to blow the Scorpions. Unfortunately, he was out of non-lethal equipment to use against the enemy. Taking out a small dagger, he gouged a few holes, placing some flashers in the earth. At most, they could cause temporary blindness or even deafness for a time, he placed on the far side a heavy weighted sack with a wire attached around it. Stringing it to the other side, he attached it to some of the heavy bags in the Scorpion nest.

Present...

"Well I will be damned they came rather quickly!!" The baker cackled as he sprinted with the rest of the men. The two horses that flinched were spared the wire; however, a few behind were not, as the riders went down, the advance slowed. After a few yards, the column hit the flashers; light and loud concussive pops fell beneath their feet. Fear flooded the column, creating disorientation. This bought them more time to clear the bridge while on foot, trailing behind both hands, Tool watched the bridge.

"Beauty.." Making several hand gestures Tool made a throwing gesture towards the base of the bridge. The spikes came to life first, the tops ignited into blue hot flames, burning away the supports and the bridge itself. The second was that half the stake exploded, widening the gap the bridge used to cover. Due to the high burn from the shroud, the sand was glazed into spikes at the edges and sides. It would take some time for the water and whatnot to now fill the small basin left, but that was now natures task.

Nodding lightly, Tool resumed his jog back, admiring the glassy gap he had just created.
 
Over the bridge, and hustling across the fields, Zalan turned about to spy the results of their work in fresh hot ruins. Proud smile on his armonium smudged face as he watched the flames lick high against the cold night air. A bonfire, for all to see.

Not perfectly as they had planned it. And he was sure he would hear from Altuya.

What remained of the cavalry column thought better than to give chase, and Zalan could still see the officer snap directions with saber in hand. Zalan's own palm wrapped about his Arshakan blade. Rubbed his thumb into the old grooves of the pommel.

There would be blood come morning. He had no doubt of that.

A whistle from Cutter, some yards ahead now. Zalan turned and ran up after them.

Back at camp, the Salamanders broke into the perimeter, big laughs and toothy smiles. Adrenaline still in their veins and the thrill of victory high. No casualties on their end of the deal.

"Two of them bloody bolt slingers, and a whole fucking bridge!" Ignis boast.

"Lucky work," Old Leto said quiet.

"Fuck that! Salamander work! You see our boy, Tool? Traps all, slink and zip and BOOM!" He mimed the explosion with his hands.

"Alright, that's enough!" Cutter barked. Though there was a hint of a smile tugging at his lips too. A nod as his eyes flit to Tool. "You did a hell of a job out there, Baker," the big man assured.

Zalan was smoking one of his roles of sweet smelling herb. Mind full on a shroud storm he could feel brewing. Felt it in the soles of his feet. The dig of his toes against the soil. He took a drag, and let out a puff of many-colored-smoke.

"Salamanders!" came the call of an all too familiar voice.

Zalan grumbled, and turned to find, "Altuya,"

Captain Altuya, of the Red Hares, looked furious. "What's this about you having blown the bridge!?"

The Salamanders gathered up. Armonium streaked by sweat and the smell of shroud-smoke still on em.

Zalan glared at Altuya, the distant glow of shroud-lamps painting both of their faces azure blue. "Ran into some trouble, had to make adjustments in the moment to see us out of there good and whole,"

Altuya glared. Looked over the rabble of sappers, and snapped his eyes back to Zalan. "You are to report to the command tent, immediately, " with that, he turned on his heels and was off.
 
Amidst the celebration and cheer, Tool had his mind on other things. The bread he had left for the chefs earlier this morning was undoubtedly ready. Something for him to eat and fill the hollow pit in his stomach. Several companions clapped him on the back as he unslung his crossbow. Stowing it into the tent, he gently bowed at Cutter with a nod. Slipping quickly into the tent, he found his prize. A shroud-treated sack that kept the bread fresh and warm for eating. Grabbing the sack quickly, the cry from Altuya brought him back outside, sack in hand.

Zalan had kept his cool, a captain is to be fully responsible for any plan deviation regardless of their control or lack thereof. Thinking back to the scorpion nest, Tool recalled the man's sword design and that of their enemy. A turncoat coat, but that was none of his business. As Altuya left, summoning Zalan to the command tent, the sapper had a thought of his own. Side-stepping the main group, he quickly approached Zalan, clearing his throat.

"Captain.. Please allow me to come with you to report. Perhaps I can help smooth some of this over." The Baker kept a straight face as he spoke despite the play on words. Blue light rolled and flickered off of his dark skin; dirt and the armonium smudged on him did little to hide the twinkle of mischief in his eyes.
 
Zalan looked over the young blade. Put the roll to his lips. Dragged a deep puff till the roll's cherry burned bright. Let it swirl there behind lips and teeth.

"Sure," he said, more croak behind held breath. Held it a wild longer.

A rush out. Swirls of blue and green shift to gold and orange. "Keep close, and stay quiet," he added. Not sure what the baker had in mind, but he oft worked in mysterious ways.

With that, they moved to the command tent. The rest of the Salamanders gathering around for drinks and calling for the hog they had hunted earlier in the day to be put to spit and pit.

As Zalan and Tool approached the tent, the voices of the officers could be heard through the canvas walls. The Captain took another drag, and passed the roll to the Salamander.

"So," he pushed out with a puff of smoke. "How do you plan to smooth this over?" his eyes glint with curiosity behind the amber lenses that helped his shroud-touched eyes keep from harming his sanity.
 
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