Hyrus [IC: Rated M]
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June 18th, 2012 (10:58 PM).
Butcher of the Sands
Victoria “Alys” Taimor – An outlying village by Dalenham
”Victoria, listen to me please!” Elizabeth was far from pleading, verging on ordering Victoria to follow her orders; but this was an issue Elizabeth had no control over Victoria with. “You have to marry him; it will strengthen our ties with much of Ethora.”
For years Elizabeth had been pressuring Victoria to marry some noble from some major house in the north, and for every single day of those years she had refused. Ever since their parent’s death, Elizabeth had been made House Leader on their section of Ethora and almost constantly pressed the issue with her. She was not looking out for Victoria’s happiness, rather trying to strengthen her own political power and standing as one of the youngest House Leaders. Victoria refused to aid her sister without some sort of incentive; and moving to the frigid northern lands far from her home was not the best of reasons.
“Mother and Father may have left you in charge, but you will never control me. Never!” Victoria’s blood was boiling as she shouted at her sister within her private chambers.
It was not uncommon for the sisters to bicker; neither was it rare that Victoria would get upset or disagree with Elizabeth on a particular issue. A cool breeze washed over Victoria as the sun hit her hunting leathers strapped to her body. Within their abode in Rowanion, Victoria preferred to roam in her commoner clothes or hunting leathers, but today she had her hunting leathers strapped tightly to her body, bag slung over one shoulder and ready to head out. Victoria would miss the friends she had made with the populous of Rowanion, but she needed to get away, she needed to escape the grip her sister had on her.
The wooden club smashed into her shoulder, pushing Victoria to the side; her notched bow flying off somewhere into the distance. Cursing she grabbed her shoulder and pain quickly spread to ever corner of her body and small trickles of bleed began weaving down her arm. If her leather shoulder pads hadn’t taken the brunt of the hit, she would have had to deal with a broken shoulder making her bow completely useless to her. She could feel the hot breath of the orc looming over her, casting a wide shadow as it lifted its club up again for another strike.
“Sh*t,” she cursed, rolling to the side as the monster’s grunt was followed by the unmistakeable thud of wood meeting hard ground. She had rolled over on her sore shoulder, sending sparks of pain flying outwards from her shoulder. Cringing, she fumbled blindly for the hunting knife that sat comfortably by her waist. Despite having had years of no contact with Rowanion, the memories of the past still crippled her to this day; the memories flooding back at sometimes the most inappropriate time. She lay there on the ground beneath the hulking body of her Orcish foe, bow having skittered away out of reach and only a small hunting knife in hand to protect her. Victoria crumpled up her nose as the beast’s foul, rotten breath rolled over her body. She had one chance, one shot to kill the brute least she fail and die.
“Goodbye….sister…” She whispered beneath her breath as she thrust her body upwards in one fluid motion, springing forth and plunging the blade hilt-deep into the stomach of the brute. Blood sprayed out much the same as the roar that came from its throat. Victoria rolled out from under it as the Orc’s body fell heavily to the ground wincing as she again rolled over her injured shoulder. She walked over to her bow, dusting the dirt off it as she lifted it from the ground, notching one of her final arrows and aiming at the head of the recently felled Orc.
All around her Orcish bodies lay wasted; their blood fertilising the hard earth beneath them. Many held large gash wounds from Cassandra’s two handed Claymore or shallow hacks from Varian’s dual axes. Every now and then there would be one that would have sustained and elegant blow from Victoria’s fellow recruit, Ava; a half elf she had only just met recently. Rotating her shoulder, Victoria tried to work out the injury from her shoulder until the pain was just a dull throb. Weaving between the slumped bodies, she picked out all the arrows she had imbedded into their harsh, coarse hide. Many were broken and irreparable; more than she liked to have and by the end of her salvage mission, Victoria had little more than half a quiver filled with arrows. Kicking the dirt as she made her way back to meet the others at the gates of Dalenham, she hoped that the contract paid off enough to fill her quiver with arrows and her stomach until the next time she would be called for duty.
Up ahead she noticed Ava dart elegantly around an Orc before culling it in one fluid motion. The way she moved was so graceful, it made Victoria jealous seeing as in close combat she herself felt clumsy. But Victoria instead chose the bow, feeling the power as she pulled the string taunt then releasing it into an enemy’s body. Victoria followed behind Ava as she made her way to the gate of Dalenham, Cassandra and Varian waiting somewhat seemingly patient by the gates. She stopped nursing her shoulder as she got nearer, not wanting to appear weak in front of any of them. Slinging her bow over her shoulder, she slipped into the calm demeanour that was her alter-ego “Alys”, as if nothing had happened at all.
“So, what’s next?” she asked Varian, gazing up at him.
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