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Finally he went to deal with the Brotherhood of the Axe, run by one of the ex mercs: Mickron Smith. In the brotherhoods camp the party found out that Cal was indeed a very angry man when he let it out against Mikky. Afterwards wounds and poison caught up with him and he fell against a group of banits as the party fled and bled to death. |
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still FOIP. |
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Boy leaves family to decide his own life. |
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Maybe later, maybe FOIP. |
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The shouting match had no intention of dieing down. After Cal had cursed his parents, his father again, their enemies, the gods and the pointlessness of their fued his father had uttered the immortal words: "If you walk out of here boy, you will not walk back". They were words said to his back. He was leaving for somewhere, and he had no intention of ever returning. His father still had spare sons. Dodge, counter, and with a quick hack to the back of the arm the bandit lost his sword. Cal smashed his shield into the mans face, knocking him to the floor. Step forward ready to finish. And the fearsome bandit for a few seconds ago transforms into a boy in his early teens, clutching his injured arm in terror. Clothed in scraps, face gaunt, probably a decade his junior. Cal felt the adrenaline drain out of him, the battle was over, he'd won. Seeing his guard lowered the boy paniced and darted, grabbing his fallen sword with his left hand and swinging widly. The sword connected, hard enough to sever the links of cals mailel and send him staggering, without the armour it would likely have been fatal. The response was automatic, shield up again in a stunning blow then a loose slash to keep the other swordsman parrying not attacking. Except a village boy had no real idea how to parry, and the slash opened his stomach up. He collapsed to his knees, making a gasping sucking noise as he tried to speak while his guts tumbled out, their eyes met, the boys in panic fear, begging for impossible help or a miracle, then he toppled forward. His stomach heaved, and Cal spent the rest of that fight hurling next to the corpse of his opponent. The other guards finished the remainder of the bandits then christened him upchuck and congratulated him on surviving his first kill. Later one of them stitched his side back together. Told him he would have a nice ragged scar to remember it by: the only good enemy is a dead one. The drugs were coursing though his body. "SOLOMON. COME AND HAVE A GO IF YOU THINK YOU'RE HARD ENOUGH!" Saying this to an Oni who is consuming an entire plane of magic may not have been the best move in hindsight. Frankly, he didnt care. Confidence, belief, strength and bloodlust as he dodged and blocked and hacked his way to the Oni. It was chaos, he could no longer see Elizabeth, Will, Barny or Ruth and frankly didn't care either. What mattered was the battle. Eventually there was nothing left to hack. He stood victorious. And he looked out over the field of his victory, and felt it turn to ash. Elizabeth was still concious but couldn't move, Barny was clutching his side but standing, Will and Ruth were not. They managed to get to will to stop him bleeding out, but by the time they found her body Ruth was already cold. She had been flanked and hacked down by one of the lesser demons. Flanked and cut down because he had been too busy playing the hero instead of watching out for his party. There was blood in his eyes, up his nose, in his mouth, bits of Miccky embedded into him, his limbs were sluggish, the armour too heavy, dragging himself towards the main exit of camp was a chore. Was it injuries, or one of mikkies poisons? He remembered feeling like this: after the midwife had stabbed him. He would be barely able to swing his sword. There was shouting on the gate, he tried to get it through to them: I can't run. You go, I'll buy you time. Blake didn't get it. A look further ahead and Ysmey and Earnest are about to run into a 2nd mob. Battlefield decision, fatigued mind. Leave Blake here to be hero, engage 2nd group so others can flank round them. Move forward. Momentum can substitute for muscles. His shield was heavy, too heavy now, he let it drop to the floor, 2 hands on his sword, give it all the power he had left. His allies in front part to either side to avoid being surrounded, leaving the centre open. He crashed into the centre of the enemy line and swung with all his remaining strength. A last thought comes to him. Perhaps it was the old humacti lies he had been brought up with. Perhaps it was the muddled rage. Perhaps it was just his own vindictiveness: take as many of them with you as you can. |
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Full heavy armour under a yellow and black tabbard, carrying a pair of swords and a shield. I'm captain of the mercenaries guild, people expect me to be ready for a fight, it's sort of like a business card. Thus I go to the bar equipped for a major combat, I usually get it as well. Other than that, I'm tall, a bit skinner than your average merc with grey hair and thanks to some luckily timed magical healing, surprisingly few visible scars. My face still twitches any time someone mentions demons though , reminding me what by all rights I should have in place of a left check. My chest has the stitching of about 6 different doctors on it, but seeing that requires me not to be in armour. |
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Full heavy armour under a yellow and black tabbard, carrying a pair of swords and a shield. I'm captain of the mercenaries guild, people expect me to be ready for a fight, it's sort of like a business card. Thus I go to the bar equipped for a major combat, I usually get it as well. Other than that, I'm tall, a bit skinner than your average merc with grey hair and thanks to some luckily timed magical healing, my right cheak is mostly a burn scar from an exploding enemy and my neck is scarred from the Midwifes curse. My face still twitches any time someone mentions demons, reminding me what by all rights I should have in place of a left check. My chest has the stitching of about 6 different doctors on it, but seeing that requires me not to be in armour. |
In heavy armour and a shield he found work quickly in the Mercenaries guild, he is surprisingly well educated for a mercenary.
Fairly no nonsense, Cal trusts his shield and his sword arm. His usual response to most magic is "you're doing what?"
Recently stopped the village of little Ackington from summoning the demon "Crafter" and dragged their high priest to the temple of Justice for judgement. As a result of the trial and judgement he was fined 10 shillings.
Currently is Captain of the mercenaries guild and thus happy to be hired out for parties who need some combat muscle for their hairbrained adventures.
Went to the plane of light, looted the treasury of the Oni Solomon - Lord of Rainbows. Was less than impressed with the return. Killed Solomon, sadly losing one of the party in the process.
The city sent him on an all expenses paid vacation to Andalucia, where along with the rest of the Mercenaries Guild, he stole 2 of the 7 wonders, the contents of the treasury and 3 of Cardenal Snipo's favourite dancing girls. He is using the Great Lighthouse of Andalucia as a desk light.
Recently has "foiled" the Scarlet Swog. Or at least carted him off in handcuffs before handing him over to the militia.
He has recently acquired certain interesting "issues" over his mortal state, leading him to being laid to rest twice by Molly.
He also has the terrible affliction of people assuming that Cal is short for something and trying to fill in the rest.
He led a team of adpt negotiaters to deal with the Merchant Venturers. Halfway through he found that the MV's were fucking with the mercenaries. The warehouse burned down shortly after.
In the midwife moon he helped defend a village against hordes of undead, with mixed success. Cals attitude being very much, if the villagers were going to run off, he wasn't going to chase them. A lot of them subsequently died. In the final battle he was stuck with a curse then impaled through the collar by the mid-wifes spear and collapsed. Comatose and unresponsive to any healing for a time he regained conciousness during the after-battle party, but didn't stay for the festivities and limped home after getting a debrief of who didn't make it.
Cal was involved in the death of the lady protector, getting stabbed up for his troubles and currently has a broken shoulder. This has not improved his temper.
Finally he went to deal with the Brotherhood of the Axe, run by one of the ex mercs: Mickron Smith. In the brotherhoods camp the party found out that Cal was indeed a very angry man when he let it out against Mikky. Afterwards wounds and poison caught up with him and he fell against a group of banits as the party fled and bled to death.
"So we are going to fix this magical fuckup using an even bigger magical fuckup."
"Oi Demon! Come and have a go!"
"Elijah, why couldn't I have had you as judge for the cultist trial?"
"Everyone alive, got the gold, got the girls. I call this a Win!"
"Could I remind this impending fight, 1 mercenary captain, sitting here ready to be hired."
"We now fall back to plan B. You do not fuck with the mercenaries guild. Kill everything."
"I fucking hate villages."
They were words said to his back. He was leaving for somewhere, and he had no intention of ever returning. His father still had spare sons.
Step forward ready to finish.
And the fearsome bandit for a few seconds ago transforms into a boy in his early teens, clutching his injured arm in terror. Clothed in scraps, face gaunt, probably a decade his junior. Cal felt the adrenaline drain out of him, the battle was over, he'd won.
Seeing his guard lowered the boy paniced and darted, grabbing his fallen sword with his left hand and swinging widly. The sword connected, hard enough to sever the links of cals mailel and send him staggering, without the armour it would likely have been fatal. The response was automatic, shield up again in a stunning blow then a loose slash to keep the other swordsman parrying not attacking.
Except a village boy had no real idea how to parry, and the slash opened his stomach up. He collapsed to his knees, making a gasping sucking noise as he tried to speak while his guts tumbled out, their eyes met, the boys in panic fear, begging for impossible help or a miracle, then he toppled forward.
His stomach heaved, and Cal spent the rest of that fight hurling next to the corpse of his opponent. The other guards finished the remainder of the bandits then christened him upchuck and congratulated him on surviving his first kill. Later one of them stitched his side back together. Told him he would have a nice ragged scar to remember it by: the only good enemy is a dead one.
Eventually there was nothing left to hack. He stood victorious.
And he looked out over the field of his victory, and felt it turn to ash.
Elizabeth was still concious but couldn't move, Barny was clutching his side but standing, Will and Ruth were not. They managed to get to will to stop him bleeding out, but by the time they found her body Ruth was already cold. She had been flanked and hacked down by one of the lesser demons. Flanked and cut down because he had been too busy playing the hero instead of watching out for his party.
There was shouting on the gate, he tried to get it through to them: I can't run. You go, I'll buy you time. Blake didn't get it. A look further ahead and Ysmey and Earnest are about to run into a 2nd mob. Battlefield decision, fatigued mind. Leave Blake here to be hero, engage 2nd group so others can flank round them.
Move forward. Momentum can substitute for muscles.
His shield was heavy, too heavy now, he let it drop to the floor, 2 hands on his sword, give it all the power he had left. His allies in front part to either side to avoid being surrounded, leaving the centre open. He crashed into the centre of the enemy line and swung with all his remaining strength. A last thought comes to him. Perhaps it was the old humacti lies he had been brought up with. Perhaps it was the muddled rage. Perhaps it was just his own vindictiveness: take as many of them with you as you can.