AYTHERIUS Fool's Fate

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Fantasy  |  House: Booksie Classic
A group of brigands capture a treasured heirloom.

[!] 6/16/2017 - The story may have some new additions in the future, but it will be set as complete for now. [!]

Submitted: May 29, 2017

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Submitted: May 29, 2017

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"Hmmm, I wonder if Duke Mariyn is willing to part ways with such a valuable heirloom, Crein," Berlon stated. Berlon was a rather frail man, only standing at five feet and nine inches. He carried a dagger at his side, and was dressed like an ordinary peasant working on the field, opposed to Crein, who donned chainmail and black. Berlon could only think of his family at this time and their current safety living in Duke Mariyn's castle.
"The hell you worrying 'bout, rat? You done sold us out the other day ago. I merely took our payment," Crein retorted, with some disappointment in his eyes. He grasped the Mariyn family's heirloom and wiped off the muck on the jewel that resided in the beautiful golden crown. "We'll make stacks, stop ya yapping." Crein resided at six feet, wearing chainmail over his gambeson while covering himself with a cloak to look like a plain sheperd.
The two brigands sat at their camp with a gradually dwindling fire. 
"A-Alright man, just don't h-hurt any other peasants, alright?" Berlon shook his head shakily and clasped his hands together to warm it up by the fire.
"Why? You goin' soft on me, lad? I ain't want any damn boys in my retinue." Crein replied. "Eat up or don't." He tosses an orange over to Berlon. Berlon tried to grab it out of the air, only for it to fall in his lap.
"Crein, I have a god damn family to worry about! I only did this shit because you told me that it'd be easy money and I could go back to my family afterwards!" Berlon was in a mix of anger and concern, thinking about how the robbery of the heirloom went through and how his family would be treated if they find out that he were a part of it.
"You think you have the right to speak that pitiful mouth in my presence, bastard?" Crein unsheathed his sword and pointed it at Berlon. "I saved your fucking hide back there, gave you a chance to make a better life for yourself, even sacrificed one of my friends, and you sit here with shit still spilling out of your mouth? If you don't shut the fuck up and put up with it, I'll cut your tongue out, or even your throat." Crein had a distraught and furious look on his face as his blade pointed to Berlon's head. "You don't know what hells I've been through. Now that you're quiet, stop being such a self centered cunt." He sheathed his sword on that final word. "Another god damn word outta you and I swear I'm the evil one here."
Crein and Berlon sat silently at the crackling fire, with small wisps flittering into the night sky with sausages roasting on a makeshift grill. Both men were mentally devastated by the events that had occur this night. Berlon looks at the blood splatter on his clothes and closed his eyes for a moment.


"Bastards! To think they have the audacity to strike at moonrise!" A female knight exclaimed. She drew a mithril sword from her waist and sliced from the shoulderblade to the lower ribs. The female knight has red hair with white ribbons tying it off into a neat chignon, and fitted a platinum breastplate along with a white skirt and golden schynbalds. She also wore a white cloak and a blue shirt underneath. She deflects an axe swing and slices a robber's arm off.
"What a pretty young lady here. Why don't you come with me back to our camp? You sure know how to work a fucking arm!" Another thief shouted as he whipped his shortsword at the knight and connects a successful slash at her arm.
"Auuuhh! You won't get away with this!" The knight held her bleeding sword arm. She parries a hit from the thief and takes a jab at his chest, only to miss by a few inches.
"Out of the way, my lady!" A spear lunges and pushes past the knight and flies into the thief's stomach. The spearmaster retracts it and looks at the lady knight. The thief fell to his knees in his own pool of death.
"Guhh...damn nobles..." The thief gurgled as he died. A pool of red laid in the duke's court hall. The stench of death and blood resided in the minds of the guards in the castle.
"T-Thank you, sir. If it were not for you, I believe I may have died." The red haired knight smiled briefly at the spearmaster, only to realize a shadow behind him has thrusted a dagger several times into his back at the last moment. The spearmaster's body tensed up and then slumps down onto the floor's numbers. "You dishonorable bastards! Duke Mariyn'll have all of you hanged!" She sweeps at Berlon's torso, just to miss by an inch. Berlon runs off to the horses outside with jewelry and some silver in his pockets.
"Get back here, you coward!" He hears the knight angrily shout this as he rides away in partial fear with the rest of the bandit warband. He looks back while riding away.
The lady knight stood in the court to see a blood bath of some innocent maids and servants, as well as guardsmen dead and strewn across the carpet and halls. She walked over and kneeled down by the dead spearmaster and closed his shocked eyes. The female knight watched the room from what Berlon could see, and he could clearly see that she whispered to the spearmaster and carefully covered his body with her cape. 

 

The fire gradually crumbled. Berlon tossed in another log and some sticks while chewing on a fried sausage in his hand. He glances at the blood stains on his clothes and looked around the campsite. He drew his dagger and stared at the crimson that laid on the tip to the guard. Berlon glances for a brief moment at Crein and then back down at the withering blazes. God, what if that guard had a big family that needed him to do all that work, Berlon thought to himself. He remembered distinctly one time when he was assisting the brewmaster with the transfer of some kegs of ale and mead to a tavern. He had witnessed a drunk being beat to death right in front of him by corrupt city guards. He shook his head at the thought of it. 

 

A figure rode by on a horse past the bandit camp. Berlon got up quickly and shouted, "Watch out, there's a scout over here!"

Archers from the encampment begun firing off arrows in the direction of the rider. Crein rushes over and grabs a hatchet stuck in a log and tosses it at the horse. Unfortunately, it fell short and the rider rushes towards Crein with their lance and pierces right through his chainmail. Arrows were stuck to the rider's plate armor, but they did not stop their onslaught of two more unarmed brigands in the camp. The knight rode off and Berlon rushes to Crein's final words.

"A-Avenge, avenge me." Crein sputtered with his final breath, as blood rushes through his mouth and onto his chin and throat. The thrust from the lance not only punctured Crein, it surprisingly did not get stuck but instead tossed him backwards from the impact, and shattered some ribs.


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