Chapter 1 - Fall of Scythe
The wind swept through the leaves, bringing a mild musk of dirt
and mildew. Targus breathed it in, relishing the taste of the air. This was his home, and he would fight to the death for it. Targus' tribe, the oaks, occupied this little patch of forest for 9 generations, and he swore to see them make it to the tenth. A group of Scyther had been trying to take this land for a month now, and both sides lost many lives, but finally, it appeared as if the scyther were losing numbers. Torgus gathered his men, and began the hunt. He meant to end this battle for good, tonight, before the sun fell.
Standing medium height in his tribe, Targus was heavily muscled
by years of tilling earth, and battling pokemon who wandered too close to their camp. A thick scar travelled down his left arm, poking out between thick black armor, torn from the hide of a fallen Rhydon, and a cotton tunic, stained from the sweat and dirt of many years of use. His high leather boots stood knee-high, made of leather of a tauros skin. His shield was draped across his back. It was his prized posession. He found a bronzor in an old knig's crypt, floating there, dying. Targus took it to his village, and gave it the gift of mercy. It became his shield, protected by a seal on the back of it, the ward leaf, known to be a powerful sigul in the old kingdoms.
Targus adjusted his scyther blade in it's leaf-sheath, and moved
forward. Baeron followed close behind, clutching his spear in both gigantic hands. Baeron towered over every other man in the tribe. He was second in command, and a loyal friend and brother to Targus. Together they crept forward, looking for signs of the scyther. Farther back, the rest of the hunting team waited, wielding fire on their clubs, and lanterns, hung on large walking sticks, made for lighting arrows on the fly. In the distance, green moved over green, and Targus froze, and Baeron quickly stopped behind him. A young scyther walked away from them, oblivious, into a small clearing. Targus went for a closer look.
Upon closer inspection, there were approximately 25 scyther.
They had thirty men with fire in the back, so they would need to take the swarm by surprise. Targus and Baeron crept back to the team, not stirring the forest at all as they walked, despite their size. The sun stood in the top of the sky, beating down through the trees, onto the rest of the hunters, men clad in nothing but leather armors. They all rose as Baeron slipped through the trees, and Targus stepped before them, and described the situation.
"The scyther are grouped together." He spoke quietly. "I think if
we split up, we could flank them. Baeron and I will shall take them by the east side. Jonah, rally your numbers so you can strike from the west. We're headed for the Wild Clearing, where the old king was buried. We'll surprise them with fire, and take the remainder with our strength in numbers. Lives may be lost, but our lands will remain ours,and our babes shall live to see the morrow. We shall be drinking to our victory by sunfall." The rest of the men Stomped lightly in approval, and split apart to take their positions.
The scyther appeared to be in the process of gathering nuts and
berries. A large scyther, darker in color than the rest, stood proudly over the rest of them. She was covered in scars from previous battles, with some more recent wounds, likely the result of aviolent duel for leadership of the swarm. That was good, it meant one less scyther to deal with. It was either dead, or fled in shame. The clearing was made wider with stumps spotting the area. The trees were pushed to the north, presumably to deal with the harsh autumn winds. They made no secret of the fact that they wanted this forest. Targus watched with his group in a thick patch of trees. He know that Jonah was on the other side, Waiting for him to make the first move. Targus turned to whisper orders, when a flap of wings caught their attention. They looked up, and saw a dirty pidgey on the top branches, who, once spotted, rapidly took flight for the clearing. Scyther and hunter alike stared up at the pidgey. Than the scyther looked at the trees.
Targus pulled his blade, dipped it into the lantern, and ran,
shouting, blade blazing, into the clearing. His men instantly followed his lead, dippingarrows, spears, and clubs into the lanterns, they ran after them, shouting their own war cries. Scyther grouped themselves quickly, and began to rush at the hunters. Targus slashed at the first scyther, as it attempted to hack him down, and burned it as it slashed it's lower-mid section. A rush of liquid oozed from the wound, and the scyther crumpled to the ground. Arrows were loosed behind him, and fire shot past him, into the clearing, lighting bits of brush on fire, and scattered the scyther. Across the clearing, Jonah and his hunters rushed out of the forest, with arrows flying past them. One man behind Jonah was cut almost in two by a fleeing scyther, and another two cut it down. Baeron was keeping a scyther at bay with his huge spear, tipped with a rhyhorn's horn. The horn was blazing from the lantern fuel.
The hunters were winning the battle, and the dark green scyther flew down from a high tree in the south. He took down two men as he landed gracefully, and swiftly spun and cut down a third. Baeron charged it from the rear, and nearly speared her straight through, but she twisted herself to face him. They locked eyes, and Baeron lunged with his spear. The scyther cut a foot off the end of the spear, and dashed in close. A small dagger made of wood slipped into Baeron's hands as the scyther threw herself at him. The knife lodged in the upper abdomen but the scyther swung as if she did not feel it. It's blade stuck itself into Baeron's thigh. The scyther died on top of him, with the blade still enbedded in his thigh. In a high branch on the south-east side, a Noctowl observed the battle. 'Fools,' He thought. 'The scyther are only the beginning.'
The battle was won. Targus and his men chased off the rest of the scyther, and they fleed into the forest in all directions. 18 lay dead in the clearing, and 7 hunters. Targus rounded his men together and they all shouted his name. And Baeron stood leaning on another hunter, with a bloody scyther blade in his hand. His new trophy. The rest of the schyther's blades were cut too. The rest they burned in a small fire they in the center of the clearing. The sun began to set at they made their way home.
