Therunin and the Druj
First post after being pointed here by freakywraith and auric_flamberge
Little something about what Merryn and her military unit are up to in Therunin this DT
Merryn and her thorns picked their way carefully around the outskirts of Greenheart on the edge of the Lower Tarn Valley. They were strung out in a long line, each Navarr keeping the thorns either side of them barely in sight. They moved swiftly but cautiously, keeping sound to a minimum as much as was possible on such marshy ground. Not only did they have the massed armies of the Druj to deal with, but they also had to beware of the monstrous vallorn tainted insects that skulked in the marshes.
The night ritual that had been cast on the Lower Tarn Valley had been expansive and the deepest hollows, even this far out, were filled with a thick and cloying mist. Merryn's unit were wary of these pools of mist. The other week they had watched unseen from the trees as a small unit of Druj Stingers walked recklessly into a large pool of mist, hoping to use it to stage an ambush. The Druj walked in, strange marsh lights flared, insectoid shapes moved within the mist, and after 20 minutes of wailing, screaming and clashing of weapons, the hollow fell silent. Not a single Druj left the mist, and Merryn waited several minutes to see if there were any survivors. Her and her thorns now had a healthy respect for the mist, and avoided scouting through it if they could.
To the west, the Navarr and Highguard armies were engaged in fierce running battles with the Druj heavies. Out here, on the flank, Merryn was scouting a little way in advance of the front lines. They had their orders. They were not there to engage with the enemy. They were there purely to scout, to observe, to ascertain numbers. To drift through the trees like mist, and to dissipate just as quickly should they be seen by a large force. If they could sneak behind the Druj's line they could see if the barbarians had any marshwalkers and send word back to central command so they could be prepared that would be helpful. But they were not to risk themselves, retreat was not a dirty word. That was not to say, however, that should they come across any stragglers or small groups, that Merryn wouldn't be bringing her thorns down upon them in full force.
They'd found small bands of Druj subject tribes, cut off, lost in the marshes, injured, and abandoned by the Druj for being weak. Merryn and her thorns had picked them off quickly, arrows flying from the trees, always finding their marks before Merryn walked through their prone bodies, rapidly despatching any who weren't quite as dead as they needed to be. They left the bodies where they fell and quickly moved on, knowing that should the Black Thorns pass close to the place, the despatched orcs would rise up, winter spirits animating their dead and decayed limbs, compelling them to fight for General Carr.
Merryn had seen the husks that now fought in front of the Black Thorn army. Lethal, fearless, unfeeling, hungry for the death of whoever Carr directed them at. They didn't sleep. They didn't stop. And it wasn't just barbarian husks fighting their former allies. Any Navarr or Highguard citizen that fell either in battle or later, after a slow lingering painful death from the Druj poisons, would be getting back up. Merryn had laid friends and fellow warriors to rest in corpse glades over the last few weeks. She'd shed quiet tears over their bodies, heartbroken that she'd lost them from her part in the Great Dance. But days later, she'd catch sight of them on the battlefield feasting on the flesh of fallen Druj, or getting cut down again and again by Druj Pincers. They'd catch her eye and there was nothing there of the person she loved but an icy coldness and such hunger. It was not them. She kept telling herself, kept reminding herself what Carr had told her. “It's not your friends. Even if it looks like them. They're not there. It's just winter spirits.” But every time it happened, Merryn's heart broke anew. She was glad they'd been posted so far from the front.
Merryn heard the imitated bird calls coming from her right before the sound of splashing even reached her ears. She raised her hand, stopping her thorns advance and motioning for them to spread the word down the line to follow her before sprinting down the line towards the commotion.
She ducked and weaved under branches and around great mossy trees and came upon a small clearing, sunk nearly to the knees under muddy water. Thrashing and struggling in the middle of it was a barbarian orc and her second in command Etta. Spear tips, daggers, swords and arrows were all levelled at the wrestling pair but there was not enough room to get a shot without chance of injuring Etta. Neither was armed and the orc was favouring his right leg, he must be injured. Etta threw a hefty punch into the orc's stomach and he dropped his head as Etta head butted him with a satisfying crunch. The orc fell backwards, splashing into the water and Etta wasted not one breath in jumping on top of him and holding his head under the water as he flailed half heartedly, desperately trying to get his nose and mouth out of the foul water.
Merryn strode through her thorns as the orc twitched one last time and Etta looked up. Battle shining in her eyes, blood streaming from a cut on her forehead. Merryn beamed at her.
“Nice!” Merryn said.
“Thanks boss.” replied Etta as she jumped off the orc and retrieved her dagger from one of the other thorns. It had blood on it. The orc's face broke the surface and he coughed weakly.
Merryn raised an eye at Etta who shrugged. Tough orc, Merryn thought. Not many who can take a pounding from Etta as well as a drowning. Merryn grabbed the orc by his collar and pulled him out of the water, drawing her dagger as she did so, ready to finish the job. His eyes opened and Merryn was disturbed to see just how young he was. A flash of fear passed across his eyes as he looked at Merryn and Merryn paused, long enough to notice the Druj emblem on his war skirt. A long legged spider.
Merryn knew the Spiders, they regularly raided in Therunin. In her home. Destroying steadings, breaking apart stridings. When Merryn was a new brand, she'd ran into a scouting group of them. She tracked them through the forest as they joined up with a larger group, comprised of a number of Ghulai . They had a marshwalker. It was small, by marshwalker standards, and festooned with human skulls, broken twisted weaponry sticking out of its slimy hide. Merryn was not so lacking in wisdom to think her and her small band of thorns could bring down a marshwalker and the group of Spiders. So they filtered silently back to the nearest steading to raise the alarm. Later that day, the Spiders reached the steading. But the Navarr were prepared. They rebuffed the attack, killing the Ghulai in the process and the marshwalker, released from the control of the spring magic thankfully slimed in the opposite direction of the steading. They could not have defeated it. It was fearsome and nearly destroyed the steading whilst under the control of the Ghulai. In the years since then, Merryn had heard other rumours of Marshwalkers being controlled by the Spiders.
“Rope!” Merryn commanded and one of her thorns obliged. She dragged the orc by his collar out of the waterlogged clearing as he coughed and flailed. She threw him roughly against a tree, hard enough to knock the wind out of him, before tying him to it as her thorns looked on.
“Alright, back in line everyone. Press on as before. Etta, you have command. I'll join you in a few minutes.” Merryn glanced down sternly at the orc boy who glared back with pure fury.
A deep stab wound punctured his thigh and he was bleeding heavily from there and his broken nose. Merryn took a deep breath as she knelt down beside him. Grabbing his wounded leg firmly. He twitched weakly, trying to escape her grasp. Again, a flash of fear. A fearful Druj was a weak one.
“Where's your tribe?” Merryn commanded. The Druj boy spat at her weakly and Merryn back handed him.
“Where are your tribe?” She asked again.
“Lost them.” The boy growled.
“Do you have marshwalkers?” Merryn said firmly as the boy glared at her. She dug her thumb deep into his wound and squeezed. The boy yelped in pain and fear but did not answer.
“You know what happens if I kill you here?” She asked calmly. The boy glanced at her, breathing hard.
“I kill you here, my army comes through here, you get back up again, and you start killing your own family because that's what my General and our magic will command you to do. You won't resist it. You will end up eating their flesh as your loved ones hack you to pieces. You're young, I do not want to kill you. You could run now, leave Therunin, never come back. Or, you've seen my thorns, and you know how many we are, you can go tell your Het. Tell them how you survived torture at the hands of the Navarr. Tell them how fearless you were.”
“Now, I need you to tell me, do you have marshwalkers with your tribe?”
The boy sniffed and stared at the ground. His breathing stilled.
“We have two.” He said oh so quietly.
“What was that?” Merryn growled, digging her thumb in again.
“We've got two marshwalkers!!! Two!” The boy wailed in anguish. Merryn did not feel he was lying.
“OK. Thank you. I'll cut the ropes now. What's your name lad?” Merryn asked in a friendly manner as she got her knife out, keeping eye contact with the boy the whole time.
“It's Rul.” The boy said quietly.
“Thank you Rul.” Merryn said as she swiftly slid the knife into his heart. Another brief flash of fear as Rul breathed his last and his eyes closed.
Merryn stood up slowly and untied the rope, fastening it to her pack for later use, struggling slightly as her hands trembled. She walked to the sodden clearing and cleaned her knife slowly and thoroughly. She returned to Rul's body, where he was slumped against the tree and she laid him out on the ground in a more comfortable position. Taking one last glance at the boy's body, Merryn turned on her heels and strode off to find her thorns. She needed to send a runner back to central command.
Little something about what Merryn and her military unit are up to in Therunin this DT
Merryn and her thorns picked their way carefully around the outskirts of Greenheart on the edge of the Lower Tarn Valley. They were strung out in a long line, each Navarr keeping the thorns either side of them barely in sight. They moved swiftly but cautiously, keeping sound to a minimum as much as was possible on such marshy ground. Not only did they have the massed armies of the Druj to deal with, but they also had to beware of the monstrous vallorn tainted insects that skulked in the marshes.
The night ritual that had been cast on the Lower Tarn Valley had been expansive and the deepest hollows, even this far out, were filled with a thick and cloying mist. Merryn's unit were wary of these pools of mist. The other week they had watched unseen from the trees as a small unit of Druj Stingers walked recklessly into a large pool of mist, hoping to use it to stage an ambush. The Druj walked in, strange marsh lights flared, insectoid shapes moved within the mist, and after 20 minutes of wailing, screaming and clashing of weapons, the hollow fell silent. Not a single Druj left the mist, and Merryn waited several minutes to see if there were any survivors. Her and her thorns now had a healthy respect for the mist, and avoided scouting through it if they could.
To the west, the Navarr and Highguard armies were engaged in fierce running battles with the Druj heavies. Out here, on the flank, Merryn was scouting a little way in advance of the front lines. They had their orders. They were not there to engage with the enemy. They were there purely to scout, to observe, to ascertain numbers. To drift through the trees like mist, and to dissipate just as quickly should they be seen by a large force. If they could sneak behind the Druj's line they could see if the barbarians had any marshwalkers and send word back to central command so they could be prepared that would be helpful. But they were not to risk themselves, retreat was not a dirty word. That was not to say, however, that should they come across any stragglers or small groups, that Merryn wouldn't be bringing her thorns down upon them in full force.
They'd found small bands of Druj subject tribes, cut off, lost in the marshes, injured, and abandoned by the Druj for being weak. Merryn and her thorns had picked them off quickly, arrows flying from the trees, always finding their marks before Merryn walked through their prone bodies, rapidly despatching any who weren't quite as dead as they needed to be. They left the bodies where they fell and quickly moved on, knowing that should the Black Thorns pass close to the place, the despatched orcs would rise up, winter spirits animating their dead and decayed limbs, compelling them to fight for General Carr.
Merryn had seen the husks that now fought in front of the Black Thorn army. Lethal, fearless, unfeeling, hungry for the death of whoever Carr directed them at. They didn't sleep. They didn't stop. And it wasn't just barbarian husks fighting their former allies. Any Navarr or Highguard citizen that fell either in battle or later, after a slow lingering painful death from the Druj poisons, would be getting back up. Merryn had laid friends and fellow warriors to rest in corpse glades over the last few weeks. She'd shed quiet tears over their bodies, heartbroken that she'd lost them from her part in the Great Dance. But days later, she'd catch sight of them on the battlefield feasting on the flesh of fallen Druj, or getting cut down again and again by Druj Pincers. They'd catch her eye and there was nothing there of the person she loved but an icy coldness and such hunger. It was not them. She kept telling herself, kept reminding herself what Carr had told her. “It's not your friends. Even if it looks like them. They're not there. It's just winter spirits.” But every time it happened, Merryn's heart broke anew. She was glad they'd been posted so far from the front.
Merryn heard the imitated bird calls coming from her right before the sound of splashing even reached her ears. She raised her hand, stopping her thorns advance and motioning for them to spread the word down the line to follow her before sprinting down the line towards the commotion.
She ducked and weaved under branches and around great mossy trees and came upon a small clearing, sunk nearly to the knees under muddy water. Thrashing and struggling in the middle of it was a barbarian orc and her second in command Etta. Spear tips, daggers, swords and arrows were all levelled at the wrestling pair but there was not enough room to get a shot without chance of injuring Etta. Neither was armed and the orc was favouring his right leg, he must be injured. Etta threw a hefty punch into the orc's stomach and he dropped his head as Etta head butted him with a satisfying crunch. The orc fell backwards, splashing into the water and Etta wasted not one breath in jumping on top of him and holding his head under the water as he flailed half heartedly, desperately trying to get his nose and mouth out of the foul water.
Merryn strode through her thorns as the orc twitched one last time and Etta looked up. Battle shining in her eyes, blood streaming from a cut on her forehead. Merryn beamed at her.
“Nice!” Merryn said.
“Thanks boss.” replied Etta as she jumped off the orc and retrieved her dagger from one of the other thorns. It had blood on it. The orc's face broke the surface and he coughed weakly.
Merryn raised an eye at Etta who shrugged. Tough orc, Merryn thought. Not many who can take a pounding from Etta as well as a drowning. Merryn grabbed the orc by his collar and pulled him out of the water, drawing her dagger as she did so, ready to finish the job. His eyes opened and Merryn was disturbed to see just how young he was. A flash of fear passed across his eyes as he looked at Merryn and Merryn paused, long enough to notice the Druj emblem on his war skirt. A long legged spider.
Merryn knew the Spiders, they regularly raided in Therunin. In her home. Destroying steadings, breaking apart stridings. When Merryn was a new brand, she'd ran into a scouting group of them. She tracked them through the forest as they joined up with a larger group, comprised of a number of Ghulai . They had a marshwalker. It was small, by marshwalker standards, and festooned with human skulls, broken twisted weaponry sticking out of its slimy hide. Merryn was not so lacking in wisdom to think her and her small band of thorns could bring down a marshwalker and the group of Spiders. So they filtered silently back to the nearest steading to raise the alarm. Later that day, the Spiders reached the steading. But the Navarr were prepared. They rebuffed the attack, killing the Ghulai in the process and the marshwalker, released from the control of the spring magic thankfully slimed in the opposite direction of the steading. They could not have defeated it. It was fearsome and nearly destroyed the steading whilst under the control of the Ghulai. In the years since then, Merryn had heard other rumours of Marshwalkers being controlled by the Spiders.
“Rope!” Merryn commanded and one of her thorns obliged. She dragged the orc by his collar out of the waterlogged clearing as he coughed and flailed. She threw him roughly against a tree, hard enough to knock the wind out of him, before tying him to it as her thorns looked on.
“Alright, back in line everyone. Press on as before. Etta, you have command. I'll join you in a few minutes.” Merryn glanced down sternly at the orc boy who glared back with pure fury.
A deep stab wound punctured his thigh and he was bleeding heavily from there and his broken nose. Merryn took a deep breath as she knelt down beside him. Grabbing his wounded leg firmly. He twitched weakly, trying to escape her grasp. Again, a flash of fear. A fearful Druj was a weak one.
“Where's your tribe?” Merryn commanded. The Druj boy spat at her weakly and Merryn back handed him.
“Where are your tribe?” She asked again.
“Lost them.” The boy growled.
“Do you have marshwalkers?” Merryn said firmly as the boy glared at her. She dug her thumb deep into his wound and squeezed. The boy yelped in pain and fear but did not answer.
“You know what happens if I kill you here?” She asked calmly. The boy glanced at her, breathing hard.
“I kill you here, my army comes through here, you get back up again, and you start killing your own family because that's what my General and our magic will command you to do. You won't resist it. You will end up eating their flesh as your loved ones hack you to pieces. You're young, I do not want to kill you. You could run now, leave Therunin, never come back. Or, you've seen my thorns, and you know how many we are, you can go tell your Het. Tell them how you survived torture at the hands of the Navarr. Tell them how fearless you were.”
“Now, I need you to tell me, do you have marshwalkers with your tribe?”
The boy sniffed and stared at the ground. His breathing stilled.
“We have two.” He said oh so quietly.
“What was that?” Merryn growled, digging her thumb in again.
“We've got two marshwalkers!!! Two!” The boy wailed in anguish. Merryn did not feel he was lying.
“OK. Thank you. I'll cut the ropes now. What's your name lad?” Merryn asked in a friendly manner as she got her knife out, keeping eye contact with the boy the whole time.
“It's Rul.” The boy said quietly.
“Thank you Rul.” Merryn said as she swiftly slid the knife into his heart. Another brief flash of fear as Rul breathed his last and his eyes closed.
Merryn stood up slowly and untied the rope, fastening it to her pack for later use, struggling slightly as her hands trembled. She walked to the sodden clearing and cleaned her knife slowly and thoroughly. She returned to Rul's body, where he was slumped against the tree and she laid him out on the ground in a more comfortable position. Taking one last glance at the boy's body, Merryn turned on her heels and strode off to find her thorns. She needed to send a runner back to central command.