Ok, Gaheris part II. NOt sure if this is it, i want to put more desvription in it.... oh well
TJFNW
Gaheris II- The Legend Continues.
He was travelling north, his heading unknown, his mind full of thoughts and memories. His mind focused on the image of the blood soaked warrior, black standard raised high the eyes of the snake motif mocking him from the hill top as the raiders marched away.
The stink of burning flesh clinging to his nostrils, the screams of the dying in his ears, filling his head with the sound of suffering, the torment was too much to bare, an attack on his body.
He’d blamed himself, he should have been there, should have protected them, not off on some campaign.
Gaheris came back to reality, the self hate burning stronger than before. He preferred to travel alone, companions always thought him a hero, and those who didn’t know him saw him as prey.
He assumed that was the intention of the four men that blocked the road ahead of him, he was prey. All looked poor, their weapons a mix of axes and rusted swords. Images flashed into his mind, images of a fifth.
He ducked the arrow from his right and rolled to a ready position, sword levelled in front of him, all his senses scanning the five men.
They encircled him, pacing slowly, their steps heavy,
‘Ho friends, how may I help?’ He forced humour into his voice.
The man from the bushes spoke ‘There’s a tax for this road, you haven’t paid’
The circle became tighter; the stink of the individual men became one.
A flash of a sword swing in his mind, he dived forward thrusting his blade up. The man's swing missed him by an inch, the air whistling in his ears; it was repaid by a vicious stab to the gut. He swept his sword clear of the flesh and turned, his dark cloak catching the wind.
Two of the men stepped back; the familiar fear filled their eyes. The cold sweat of fear filled the air and the acrid urine stench.
The other two came forward, one the archer from the bushes. In his mind he saw him feint then swing left. He side stepped to the right, and then sent a heavy slash into the bowman’s neck.
His head fell to the slush covered path, the other man turned to run, but Gaheris’s sword went down slicing the muscles of the man's legs. He fell crying out in pain to the floor. The blind fighter gripped his sword in two hands and pushed all his weight on to the mans heart. The blade crushed muscle and bone in its path, the impact jarring his arms.
He cleaned the blade with the archer’s tunic; the rough material grating slightly on the polished steel, and continued his walk, the other two raiders having long since gone. He felt oddly remorseful that there would be no more death; he went back to his memories.
Wednesday, June 22, 2005
Sunday, June 19, 2005
Gaheris
Gaheris: The Legend Begins.
The three of them stood on the mountain side, the party of raiders they’d been tracking for the past few days had given them the slip. Dakar looked out over the valley, his club in hand, he couldn’t see any tracks; they’d been covered in the fresh snow.
The red bearded, towered over his two companions, Jahro the archer; the best bow man for miles around, Dakar had along side him in many battles, then there was Gaheris the new addition the blind sword fighter they’d found in the city. His skills as a fighter were immense despite his disability; he seemed to know where his sword and his opponents were with some sixth sense.
The moon light glinted from the snow; Gaheris looked up, his dull pupil less eyes bright, ‘To the East, they ride for the mountain pass.’ His voice was calm but had the edge of excitement.
The giant and the old archer looked at each other their, thoughts clear. There were no tracks, no possible way he could have seen their route or even the pass from here it was many miles to the east.
Gaheris began to run, gaining speed down the wide path, his companions followed weapons ready, alert for the first sign of danger.
Jahro reached the bottom of the track first; the wind caught his long hair, grey before it’s time, the feint smell of saddle sore and sweat reached his nostrils, the blind man was right.
The three split up, Jahro ranging ahead through the trees to the side of the track, staying hidden, while Gaheris and Dakar took the road.
Dakar moved slightly ahead, his club ready in hand, his other hand strayed to his beard a sign he was nervous. His foot steps crunched in the pact snow, the small sound was like a drum to Gaheris.
He’d been born with glazed eyes, the pupils to faint to see, but it had not affected him. He’d still been able to see; at first he’d wondered why people assumed he couldn’t see, but as he grew older he began to realise other people used their eyes to see h used his mind.
Gaheris could see everything; he had learned to stretch his sight so he could see all about him for miles. Then the sight changed.
It happened one day during practice at the academy. His father had sent him there to be taught by the monks. He was a fast learner; he excelled at military strategy and was moved to the academy from the monastery. The academy was a lot les academic than the teaching of the monks. The pupils learnt sword play and wrestling as well as logistics and tactics.
The day his sight changed had been a cool summer’s day; he had faced his opponent, a new boy big and muscled, who wanted and easy fight against the ‘blind boy’. Gaheris had accepted he was angry at the boy for judging him because of his eyes.
The stood facing each other in stance. The boy attacked, Gaheris blocked with the perfect and delivered a riposte as the boy stepped back. The fight continued, Gaheris blocked each cut and countered perfectly. After the bout one of his friends had asked him how and Gaheris told him,
‘I could see where he was going as well as where he was…’
He could see the future.
Through out his life Gaheris tried to advance this new power but to no avail. He could only see the future in battle, as the knot in his stomach tightened and the blood lust took over, he could see his opponent’s moves.
He’d become a mercenary after he graduated, fighting in many campaigns, but this one was the worst.
The Anwariad raiders had come from the north, over the mountains and begun raiding towns on the border. It was in one of these raids he’d met Dakar and Jahro.
They arrived at the mountain pass a little before dawn. From their high vantage point they could see the raiders; they had stopped to camp in the valley bellow. The trio ran the snow thicker as they started into the valley.
Dakar was tiring, the giant not used to the long distance, but he hid it well from his companions. Jahro still ranged ahead, an arrow notched to his bow, his hunts mans eyes scanning the surrounding scree and trees.
The group continued their march into the valley, Gaheris’s mind wandered, he thought of that first raid, the screams and all the blood…
The Anwariad raiders had come south for provisions for the winter, their crops having been ruined by the freak autumn frost. Gaheris had been travelling north to a temple when he’d seen the smoke; he kicked his horse into a canter. He reached the village too late.
All around lay the dead and dying. He explored the streets, many soaked in blood. He rounded a corner and felt the pressure of a blade against his throat.
‘It’s a blind man, Dakar. More your level.’ The voice was calm and unworried
Another voice spoke up, ‘Jahro you scoundrel lower your sword, the Anwariad kill their disabled.
Gaheris spoke, ‘true giant, I am no Anwariad and I thank you for removing your wizened friend’s blade.’
Both men looked stunned, Dakar spoke,
‘You see blind man??’ Jahro made his way to Gaheris’s rear, sword raised.
‘I see,’ Gaheris swung his sword out, it tripped the old hunter
He turned, and blocked the swinging club of the giant. The two stepped back, their faces a mask of horror.
‘How?…’ the hunter’s voice was laced with fear.
Gaheris moved to a log and sat down,
‘Perhaps you should tell me what took place here first’
The wind picked up, the sides of the valley offering no protection from the harsh elements. Ahead Gaheris stopped, he raised a hand, and they were near to the raiders’ camp.
The two warriors had told Gaheris how the raiders had ridden in to the village and begun to slay the villagers. They had started to burn the houses, the two had arrived too late to really help, they had killed a few but others had made their escape.
‘We follow then.’ Gaheris’s voice was hard, his blank eyes narrowed with anger.
The two warriors could see the hate there…
They crouched in the undergrowth surrounding the camp, all the time staying down wind.
Jahro crawled to where Gaheris and Dakar lay in the snow,
‘I count twelve, two are by the horses.’ The old hunter nodded to where they beasts we stabled.
‘No my friend,’ Gaheris looked puzzled, ‘there are more…’ he trailed off, something was blocking his vision.
The block cleared as soon as it had arrived. He shook his head.
‘Gaheris?’ Dakar’s voice was laced with concern.
‘I, I am fine. There are twenty of them. Another eight patrol the roads.’
Jahro crawled away, heading for the valley’s track.
He saw the eight on the road, the blind man was right again. He pulled back his bow chord and fired. The raider fell, his heart pierced. Another arrow, another dead the missile stuck in his throat, his sword hit the floor as his body fell. The sound echoed through the valley, startling birds.
The raiders turned, many drew weapons, and they split up. One moved to the corpse, he was the first to die, another heart shot. They were closing on him, no time for accuracy now; he spread the contents of his quiver on the ground, twelve shafts, not enough.
The first man he saw got a shot to the belly, the next the chest, but to far from his heart.
More raiders came from the camp, their faces a mask of fury. A huge shape moved to the raiders left, past the camp. A huge club swept two of the men aside, with the sickening snap of breaking bones. The raiders stepped back many turned to fun from this behemoth, behind them was a blind man, the front raider ran at him, but the man swung and stepped forward, seeming never to touch the raider but the man feel, choking on his blood.
There was chaos in the camp the three stood back to back, weapons high, Dakar blocked a two handed swing, Gaheris’s sword swept out to kill the wielder, while Jahro held his own on the other side his two short swords death for all who stood before him.
Gaheris moved from the circle, his mind flowing with the other combatants’ moves, he felt powerful as his blade stole the lives of those he hated.
He remembered the night two years ago when he’d gone home. The village was burnt, the marks of the raiders everywhere.
He’d vowed to kill as many of the people as he could.
‘How strange’ he thought, as he stole another’s life, ‘the ease with which you could destroy some one.’
The visions flooded away, he knew the last enemy had fallen.
The others approached, Dakar was unhurt, and Jahro had a shallow slash over one forearm.
They moved to the camp, the smell of cooking meat filled their noses, mixed with the stench of the horses and the unwashed tents and bodies.
The sights Gaheris could see, hidden to the others sickened him, Jahro went to open a tent,
‘Do not brother, there are none alive here.’ The blinds mans voice was soft
‘I hear a cry…’ Gaheris looked at the old man; his mind scanned the surrounding area.
‘West, in the forest, she is running.’ The three broke into a run, Dakar taking the lead the man’s huge legs crushing roots and weeds underfoot.
They caught up with her, not far from the foot of the mountains.
The giant scooped up the woman. He looked at her, she was weeping, her fists hitting his huge chest, their impact having no effect. He held he close, her delicate frame trembling with sobs.
They set up camp, Jahro went and raided the Anwariad camp for anything useful, he returned with some dry food and a pair of winter blankets.
The girl clung to Dakar, the attention making the giant uneasy. She was a wild looking creature, hair dishevelled, dress torn and the burn of hate in her cold green eyes.
She fell asleep quickly, he exhaustion gripping her pulling her into sleep. Dakar looked at the girl sleeping at his feet, Jahro spoke,
‘Where’s she from??’ His voice was quiet and cold as ice.
‘The village, she lived with her grandmother, they killed her.’ The giants faced showed concern, ‘What ails you old friend?’
‘You should have seen the camp, it was sickening. Women raped, girls murdered, savaged. Those weren’t men they were beasts.’ His voice had risen nearly to a shout.
‘Calm your self.’
Gaheris had been silent until then, lost in his memories, the memories of that night. He was always like this after a fight, morose, still. The faces of the men he’d killed filled his mind.
‘I leave you in the morning.’ He spoke barely above a whisper, ’I was glad of your company, but I must return to my quest.’
Jahro looked at the blind man, ‘What is your quest? I for one would not be averse to aiding you, and Dakar here is always up for a scrap.’
‘No,’ his voice was firm, ‘no, I must go alone.’ He lowered his head, hiding his face from their gaze, ‘You should take her to Tevar,’ he nodded in the girls direction, ’let her rest, get her healed, get her settled.’
Dakar got up, ‘Shall we see you again, friend?’ He emphasised the last word, with out meaning to.
‘If the fates deem it proper, come now we should rest.’
The pair awoke at mid morning, the blind man was gone, his tracks blended with those of a thousand other creatures and covered by a fresh sprinkling of snow.
The three of them stood on the mountain side, the party of raiders they’d been tracking for the past few days had given them the slip. Dakar looked out over the valley, his club in hand, he couldn’t see any tracks; they’d been covered in the fresh snow.
The red bearded, towered over his two companions, Jahro the archer; the best bow man for miles around, Dakar had along side him in many battles, then there was Gaheris the new addition the blind sword fighter they’d found in the city. His skills as a fighter were immense despite his disability; he seemed to know where his sword and his opponents were with some sixth sense.
The moon light glinted from the snow; Gaheris looked up, his dull pupil less eyes bright, ‘To the East, they ride for the mountain pass.’ His voice was calm but had the edge of excitement.
The giant and the old archer looked at each other their, thoughts clear. There were no tracks, no possible way he could have seen their route or even the pass from here it was many miles to the east.
Gaheris began to run, gaining speed down the wide path, his companions followed weapons ready, alert for the first sign of danger.
Jahro reached the bottom of the track first; the wind caught his long hair, grey before it’s time, the feint smell of saddle sore and sweat reached his nostrils, the blind man was right.
The three split up, Jahro ranging ahead through the trees to the side of the track, staying hidden, while Gaheris and Dakar took the road.
Dakar moved slightly ahead, his club ready in hand, his other hand strayed to his beard a sign he was nervous. His foot steps crunched in the pact snow, the small sound was like a drum to Gaheris.
He’d been born with glazed eyes, the pupils to faint to see, but it had not affected him. He’d still been able to see; at first he’d wondered why people assumed he couldn’t see, but as he grew older he began to realise other people used their eyes to see h used his mind.
Gaheris could see everything; he had learned to stretch his sight so he could see all about him for miles. Then the sight changed.
It happened one day during practice at the academy. His father had sent him there to be taught by the monks. He was a fast learner; he excelled at military strategy and was moved to the academy from the monastery. The academy was a lot les academic than the teaching of the monks. The pupils learnt sword play and wrestling as well as logistics and tactics.
The day his sight changed had been a cool summer’s day; he had faced his opponent, a new boy big and muscled, who wanted and easy fight against the ‘blind boy’. Gaheris had accepted he was angry at the boy for judging him because of his eyes.
The stood facing each other in stance. The boy attacked, Gaheris blocked with the perfect and delivered a riposte as the boy stepped back. The fight continued, Gaheris blocked each cut and countered perfectly. After the bout one of his friends had asked him how and Gaheris told him,
‘I could see where he was going as well as where he was…’
He could see the future.
Through out his life Gaheris tried to advance this new power but to no avail. He could only see the future in battle, as the knot in his stomach tightened and the blood lust took over, he could see his opponent’s moves.
He’d become a mercenary after he graduated, fighting in many campaigns, but this one was the worst.
The Anwariad raiders had come from the north, over the mountains and begun raiding towns on the border. It was in one of these raids he’d met Dakar and Jahro.
They arrived at the mountain pass a little before dawn. From their high vantage point they could see the raiders; they had stopped to camp in the valley bellow. The trio ran the snow thicker as they started into the valley.
Dakar was tiring, the giant not used to the long distance, but he hid it well from his companions. Jahro still ranged ahead, an arrow notched to his bow, his hunts mans eyes scanning the surrounding scree and trees.
The group continued their march into the valley, Gaheris’s mind wandered, he thought of that first raid, the screams and all the blood…
The Anwariad raiders had come south for provisions for the winter, their crops having been ruined by the freak autumn frost. Gaheris had been travelling north to a temple when he’d seen the smoke; he kicked his horse into a canter. He reached the village too late.
All around lay the dead and dying. He explored the streets, many soaked in blood. He rounded a corner and felt the pressure of a blade against his throat.
‘It’s a blind man, Dakar. More your level.’ The voice was calm and unworried
Another voice spoke up, ‘Jahro you scoundrel lower your sword, the Anwariad kill their disabled.
Gaheris spoke, ‘true giant, I am no Anwariad and I thank you for removing your wizened friend’s blade.’
Both men looked stunned, Dakar spoke,
‘You see blind man??’ Jahro made his way to Gaheris’s rear, sword raised.
‘I see,’ Gaheris swung his sword out, it tripped the old hunter
He turned, and blocked the swinging club of the giant. The two stepped back, their faces a mask of horror.
‘How?…’ the hunter’s voice was laced with fear.
Gaheris moved to a log and sat down,
‘Perhaps you should tell me what took place here first’
The wind picked up, the sides of the valley offering no protection from the harsh elements. Ahead Gaheris stopped, he raised a hand, and they were near to the raiders’ camp.
The two warriors had told Gaheris how the raiders had ridden in to the village and begun to slay the villagers. They had started to burn the houses, the two had arrived too late to really help, they had killed a few but others had made their escape.
‘We follow then.’ Gaheris’s voice was hard, his blank eyes narrowed with anger.
The two warriors could see the hate there…
They crouched in the undergrowth surrounding the camp, all the time staying down wind.
Jahro crawled to where Gaheris and Dakar lay in the snow,
‘I count twelve, two are by the horses.’ The old hunter nodded to where they beasts we stabled.
‘No my friend,’ Gaheris looked puzzled, ‘there are more…’ he trailed off, something was blocking his vision.
The block cleared as soon as it had arrived. He shook his head.
‘Gaheris?’ Dakar’s voice was laced with concern.
‘I, I am fine. There are twenty of them. Another eight patrol the roads.’
Jahro crawled away, heading for the valley’s track.
He saw the eight on the road, the blind man was right again. He pulled back his bow chord and fired. The raider fell, his heart pierced. Another arrow, another dead the missile stuck in his throat, his sword hit the floor as his body fell. The sound echoed through the valley, startling birds.
The raiders turned, many drew weapons, and they split up. One moved to the corpse, he was the first to die, another heart shot. They were closing on him, no time for accuracy now; he spread the contents of his quiver on the ground, twelve shafts, not enough.
The first man he saw got a shot to the belly, the next the chest, but to far from his heart.
More raiders came from the camp, their faces a mask of fury. A huge shape moved to the raiders left, past the camp. A huge club swept two of the men aside, with the sickening snap of breaking bones. The raiders stepped back many turned to fun from this behemoth, behind them was a blind man, the front raider ran at him, but the man swung and stepped forward, seeming never to touch the raider but the man feel, choking on his blood.
There was chaos in the camp the three stood back to back, weapons high, Dakar blocked a two handed swing, Gaheris’s sword swept out to kill the wielder, while Jahro held his own on the other side his two short swords death for all who stood before him.
Gaheris moved from the circle, his mind flowing with the other combatants’ moves, he felt powerful as his blade stole the lives of those he hated.
He remembered the night two years ago when he’d gone home. The village was burnt, the marks of the raiders everywhere.
He’d vowed to kill as many of the people as he could.
‘How strange’ he thought, as he stole another’s life, ‘the ease with which you could destroy some one.’
The visions flooded away, he knew the last enemy had fallen.
The others approached, Dakar was unhurt, and Jahro had a shallow slash over one forearm.
They moved to the camp, the smell of cooking meat filled their noses, mixed with the stench of the horses and the unwashed tents and bodies.
The sights Gaheris could see, hidden to the others sickened him, Jahro went to open a tent,
‘Do not brother, there are none alive here.’ The blinds mans voice was soft
‘I hear a cry…’ Gaheris looked at the old man; his mind scanned the surrounding area.
‘West, in the forest, she is running.’ The three broke into a run, Dakar taking the lead the man’s huge legs crushing roots and weeds underfoot.
They caught up with her, not far from the foot of the mountains.
The giant scooped up the woman. He looked at her, she was weeping, her fists hitting his huge chest, their impact having no effect. He held he close, her delicate frame trembling with sobs.
They set up camp, Jahro went and raided the Anwariad camp for anything useful, he returned with some dry food and a pair of winter blankets.
The girl clung to Dakar, the attention making the giant uneasy. She was a wild looking creature, hair dishevelled, dress torn and the burn of hate in her cold green eyes.
She fell asleep quickly, he exhaustion gripping her pulling her into sleep. Dakar looked at the girl sleeping at his feet, Jahro spoke,
‘Where’s she from??’ His voice was quiet and cold as ice.
‘The village, she lived with her grandmother, they killed her.’ The giants faced showed concern, ‘What ails you old friend?’
‘You should have seen the camp, it was sickening. Women raped, girls murdered, savaged. Those weren’t men they were beasts.’ His voice had risen nearly to a shout.
‘Calm your self.’
Gaheris had been silent until then, lost in his memories, the memories of that night. He was always like this after a fight, morose, still. The faces of the men he’d killed filled his mind.
‘I leave you in the morning.’ He spoke barely above a whisper, ’I was glad of your company, but I must return to my quest.’
Jahro looked at the blind man, ‘What is your quest? I for one would not be averse to aiding you, and Dakar here is always up for a scrap.’
‘No,’ his voice was firm, ‘no, I must go alone.’ He lowered his head, hiding his face from their gaze, ‘You should take her to Tevar,’ he nodded in the girls direction, ’let her rest, get her healed, get her settled.’
Dakar got up, ‘Shall we see you again, friend?’ He emphasised the last word, with out meaning to.
‘If the fates deem it proper, come now we should rest.’
The pair awoke at mid morning, the blind man was gone, his tracks blended with those of a thousand other creatures and covered by a fresh sprinkling of snow.
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