The Blood Town of Yllestad, Late Afternoon
It had become routine by now for Jono and his troops. There would be a distress call from a village in the North, a settlement that was being torn apart or worse by Hobart's men in an effort to bully them out of their loyalties to Karla. Any one of the several groups that Jonothon had stationed up North, whoever was closest, would answer the call. There would be a fight, and once they emerged victorious (and a few squadrons hadn't, overpowered by the ferocity of Warlord Princes or torn down by traps left by Hobart's twisted Black Widows), the group would stay for as long as it took to repair the damages.
This call had come from Yllestad, a decently sized village by Glacian terms that made its way primarily with livestock, and a bit of logging out in the nearby mountains. Jonothon and his group had gotten a call for help on their way to a logging village a few hours away by foot, and they'd stepped in to intervene. The rescue efforts had gone smoothly, barely a scuffle by the time they'd arrived before the culprits had run off, and the damage left behind had been at a minimum.
Jonothon was frowning to himself as the Healers took care of the small handful of locals who had been only slightly injured before their arrival, and a man in his group who had been a carpenter before the war took about an hour to repair a window that had been broken by a thrown stone.
It had been too easy. Easy enough that Jono found himself wondering if the North was seeing copycat attacks, now. A pack of traveling punks that could be chased away by a few yelled threats and a raised weapon or two. Either way, the damage wasn't so extensive that they needed to put their journey off any longer. Just after noon, Jonothon and his troops bid the locals adieu, and decided to move along, hoping to make good time before the sun set. Dusk came early in the frozen north.
***
Lemmik hadn't expected to come back here. The last of the Black Widow bitches had either run for their lives years ago or decided that supporting the right side was a better alternative to dying.
He hadn't realized that this little dumping ground of theirs would continue to prove so useful, but here he was again, freezing his balls off, getting ready to send a sign to that uppity little bitch-Queen that it was over. All over.
His men had scattered from Yllestad hours ago, the big blue landen freak stomping in to fight them off just like they'd expected. Now here, he'd stick around through the to make sure no one came back and wander around trying to convince the Blood that lived her that he was tame and maybe even housebroken. It's what he'd done after every attack so far. Arrive, help, stay, leave in the morning. It was habit by now.
Lemmik smiled. Habits made a man predictable. And predictability could get a man killed. Even a big, blue ox-looking bastard.
Now that dusk had fallen, they were ready to go onto phase two. Bait had been taken, time to spring the trap. With the sky getting dark, it was less likely that anyone would notice the smoke from the field until it was far too late. If he timed it right, everyone in Yllestad would be sitting down to dinner by the time the smoke made its way north to the city. That's what they got for being traitors. Smoked out like the vermin they were.
He vanished the shovels that had been used to clear the field of the snow and toed the bodies of the landens that had done the clearing. He floated them to the middle of the field; they wouldn't be any trouble for the witchfire to burn, especially once it got going. They'd provided plenty of oil-soaked rags to make sure the witchfire would catch. Hobart was very clear that he would tolerate no failures--and with Hekatah backing him, Lemmik knew better than to challenge that.
He gave the field one more look over, just for good measure. Content that he'd done everything right, Lemmik lit the far edge of the field on fire, pouring the full strength of his Green Jewel into igniting the wet remains of the dead flowers.
Witchfire could burn stone and metal if it got hot enough. Vegetation and bodies were no problem. He stayed just long enough to make sure that the field had caught and the fire spreading nicely and then he turned, catching the Green Wind that ran right by the glade.
Heh, looked like he owed Pyrd five silvermarks after all. It turned out witches did have a use besides warming a man's bed and making his dinner.
***
It had been a few hours since Jono and his team had left Yllestad, aiming to make good time for their next stop, where they were going to help the locals reinforce their defenses against possible attack, rest up, and restock their own supplies while they took shelter from an incoming storm. A few hours, and a good distance up the mountain path that was supposed to lead them there.
It wasn't until they hit a small clearing alongside a frozen stream that their view back toward Yllestad cleared enough for anybody to notice the dark smoke billowing into the sky.
Jonothon swore under his breath. Had the attackers he'd brushed off as punks returned to the village, setting its buildings on fire? It had been a long while since he'd seen smoke so dark and thick as that, rising like a blot of ink against the sky as storm clouds started to blow in. If they'd looked back any earlier, they probably would have missed the smoke entirely and continued blithely on their way. It was only the sheer amount of it that made it possible to see against the darkened evening sky.
"You, you, and you," he barked, pointing out two landens and a Blood female that still looked fresh on their feet. Three of the quickest, who had grown up in the mountains themselves and who wouldn't be troubled by the terrain. "Double back, and report back the moment you know what's going on."
The trio nodded, threw off salutes that had Jono rolling his eyes, and then took off down the mountainside again at a run, leaving Jono to bark orders to the rest of his troops, telling them to rest now while they could, and then ready themselves for what might very well be a real fight.
[Co-written with the wonderful glacial_witch. Thus starts the beginning of war-ending LJ spam. NFI, NFB, OOC always appreciated.]
This call had come from Yllestad, a decently sized village by Glacian terms that made its way primarily with livestock, and a bit of logging out in the nearby mountains. Jonothon and his group had gotten a call for help on their way to a logging village a few hours away by foot, and they'd stepped in to intervene. The rescue efforts had gone smoothly, barely a scuffle by the time they'd arrived before the culprits had run off, and the damage left behind had been at a minimum.
Jonothon was frowning to himself as the Healers took care of the small handful of locals who had been only slightly injured before their arrival, and a man in his group who had been a carpenter before the war took about an hour to repair a window that had been broken by a thrown stone.
It had been too easy. Easy enough that Jono found himself wondering if the North was seeing copycat attacks, now. A pack of traveling punks that could be chased away by a few yelled threats and a raised weapon or two. Either way, the damage wasn't so extensive that they needed to put their journey off any longer. Just after noon, Jonothon and his troops bid the locals adieu, and decided to move along, hoping to make good time before the sun set. Dusk came early in the frozen north.
***
Lemmik hadn't expected to come back here. The last of the Black Widow bitches had either run for their lives years ago or decided that supporting the right side was a better alternative to dying.
He hadn't realized that this little dumping ground of theirs would continue to prove so useful, but here he was again, freezing his balls off, getting ready to send a sign to that uppity little bitch-Queen that it was over. All over.
His men had scattered from Yllestad hours ago, the big blue landen freak stomping in to fight them off just like they'd expected. Now here, he'd stick around through the to make sure no one came back and wander around trying to convince the Blood that lived her that he was tame and maybe even housebroken. It's what he'd done after every attack so far. Arrive, help, stay, leave in the morning. It was habit by now.
Lemmik smiled. Habits made a man predictable. And predictability could get a man killed. Even a big, blue ox-looking bastard.
Now that dusk had fallen, they were ready to go onto phase two. Bait had been taken, time to spring the trap. With the sky getting dark, it was less likely that anyone would notice the smoke from the field until it was far too late. If he timed it right, everyone in Yllestad would be sitting down to dinner by the time the smoke made its way north to the city. That's what they got for being traitors. Smoked out like the vermin they were.
He vanished the shovels that had been used to clear the field of the snow and toed the bodies of the landens that had done the clearing. He floated them to the middle of the field; they wouldn't be any trouble for the witchfire to burn, especially once it got going. They'd provided plenty of oil-soaked rags to make sure the witchfire would catch. Hobart was very clear that he would tolerate no failures--and with Hekatah backing him, Lemmik knew better than to challenge that.
He gave the field one more look over, just for good measure. Content that he'd done everything right, Lemmik lit the far edge of the field on fire, pouring the full strength of his Green Jewel into igniting the wet remains of the dead flowers.
Witchfire could burn stone and metal if it got hot enough. Vegetation and bodies were no problem. He stayed just long enough to make sure that the field had caught and the fire spreading nicely and then he turned, catching the Green Wind that ran right by the glade.
Heh, looked like he owed Pyrd five silvermarks after all. It turned out witches did have a use besides warming a man's bed and making his dinner.
***
It had been a few hours since Jono and his team had left Yllestad, aiming to make good time for their next stop, where they were going to help the locals reinforce their defenses against possible attack, rest up, and restock their own supplies while they took shelter from an incoming storm. A few hours, and a good distance up the mountain path that was supposed to lead them there.
It wasn't until they hit a small clearing alongside a frozen stream that their view back toward Yllestad cleared enough for anybody to notice the dark smoke billowing into the sky.
Jonothon swore under his breath. Had the attackers he'd brushed off as punks returned to the village, setting its buildings on fire? It had been a long while since he'd seen smoke so dark and thick as that, rising like a blot of ink against the sky as storm clouds started to blow in. If they'd looked back any earlier, they probably would have missed the smoke entirely and continued blithely on their way. It was only the sheer amount of it that made it possible to see against the darkened evening sky.
"You, you, and you," he barked, pointing out two landens and a Blood female that still looked fresh on their feet. Three of the quickest, who had grown up in the mountains themselves and who wouldn't be troubled by the terrain. "Double back, and report back the moment you know what's going on."
The trio nodded, threw off salutes that had Jono rolling his eyes, and then took off down the mountainside again at a run, leaving Jono to bark orders to the rest of his troops, telling them to rest now while they could, and then ready themselves for what might very well be a real fight.
[Co-written with the wonderful glacial_witch. Thus starts the beginning of war-ending LJ spam. NFI, NFB, OOC always appreciated.]