Wretches
The Wilds were seldom touched by the grace of sunlight and for that reason warmth was never something one took for granted. The lazy assortment of twigs and branches crackled as flames licked up at the sides and Bale held his hands out to receive the heat. A thick, gray fog rose up to greet him, billowing out over the campsite in hazy clouds while the large column to the center filtered up through the overlapping branches above. Stone Eyes watched whilst taking a drag off his clay pipe and exhaled, adding to the thickening smog. He reached down to fish up a stick and fed it to the hungry flames.
A harsh cough sounded from behind, but Bale didn't need to turn to recognize Cal's gravelly voice. "Think you've got enough wood burning? It might be fuckin' cold, but that don't mean I want to die choking on your damn smoke." The man took up a seat on the log beside Bale. "Even a wretch out fifty leagues could spot this mess."
Bale laughed at the boy's annoyance and took another puff of his pipe as Cal turned to speak. "And the-" he got a face full of smoke deliberately blown from Stone Eye's mouth and fell from the log coughing and sputterin'. "For fuck's sake!" he gagged. Another laugh rumbled on the other side of the blaze and Bale joined in while Cal scowled up at him. "Bastard!" the younger man spat.
"Lighten up, boy," said Rud from his spot opposite of them.
"Lighten up? How's one supposed to lighten up with a couple arses like you two kickin' their shit from home to here?" he frowned. "Now there's a laugh!"
Bale shook his head and savored the last few huffs of chagga, letting the earthy-sweet taste water his mouth till he had to breathe once more. The embers of his pipe slowly burned to ashes and Bale took one final drag before tapping it out over the fire and shoving it aside. It was a rare fungus he had found growing down around the roots of an old ash tree spread about all around. It had been a chore to gather it all up, but end result was a taste that could melt away even the worst of moods. "Relax, Cal," he spoke calmly, patting the space beside him. "Sit yourself down, why don't you?"
"Sit?" he asked with exaggerated disbelief as he got to his feet. "I thought I was sittin' before," he huffed while reclaiming his lost seat. Cal had long since earned his spot by the fire, yet he was too amusin' just to let be and Rud was just the type to get under anyone's skin. Given the chance, Bale was quite sure they'd huff and howl till the horde was around them with weapons drawn. "All I know is Timmet better lug his skinny arse on down here before too long. I'm sittin' here starved and he's probably off in some village ruttin' like a dog with some chieftain's daughter."
"More like he's runnin' around lost," Rud added.
Bale shook his head. "Speaks the man who couldn't find shit if it fell out his own ass. The boy's too good a tracker to lose himself, but don't fret about it ya lug, your belly'll be full soon enough."
"You boys runnin' your mouths again? Well that be fine. Might be I keep this here doe for myself and y'all'd be shit out o' luck."
A mild breeze pulled at the flames and tugged at greasy strands on Bale's face. He brushed them aside with his hand to see a lean built boy walking with confident strides into the homely little camp they'd managed to set up. Slung across the lad's shoulders was the still carcass of small doe. It was precious little meat, but it would make for a good stew, maybe with some mushrooms thrown in for flavor. "So the mighty hunter joins the rest of us!"
"'Bout time, Cal couldn't stand another instant parted from ya. Y'alls is a love so sweet it makes me wish I were a lad once more," Rud grinned as Timmet, the youngest and last of their ragged band, took his place amongst the bunch, carefully laying the deer across the grimy ground.
"An ugly child like you? I shudder to think what daughter o' Flemmeth would touch your flabby ass," Cal muttered. Seemed to Bale, Cal and Rud trading jests was so natural to the pair, it could be done with little thinkin' to be had, for Cal's attention seemed more focused on the meat than.
"If one of you'd like to lend me a hand, might be we'll be eaten soon," Tim threw in.
Bale nodded. "What with?"
"Just need ya to put the pot on and lend me a knife," the boy spoke as he mentally marked off his cuts. "I lost mine to the night and don't expect to be seein' it again." Bale pulled up the old cook pot they all shared. Battered and dented, it was none too pretty to look at, (kind of like Rud) but it had served its use reliably over the years. He hung off a branch over the fire and watched as the flames flickered across the bottom surface.
Rud loosed his own knife and held it out for Tim hilt first. "You run into a bit o' trouble then?"
He snatched the blade up and went to work, his hands flying deftly across the dead beast, expertly peeling the skin away. "Fucking wretches!" the boy snarled. "Bloody everywhere." He looked up from his task and pointed the knife at Bale from across the flames. "Ran into a little one, a lone scout, but I'd stake my left nut we've got more than that around here."
"The corpse?" Rud inquired with a quizzical stare.
"Gave it to the river," Tim answered, skillfully carving bits of red meat from his kill and casually tossing them into the pot, sizzling as they touched the black iron
Bale planted an elbow on his knee and rested his chin in his palm. He might've figured by going south, they could call on Grenn or maybe Tul for assistance, but if those damnable creatures were spreading out amongst the muck and marshes, it might be they had the wrong idea to start with. It had been old Ironfist who suggested that the wretches were pouring in from the Frostbacks, but now that seemed like it was more guessing than anything, for the groupings of darkspawn thickened the further south they went. "Boy's more than like, right. We'd do well to start back the way we've come, but…"
"That ain't the case," Cal finished. Bale lifted his head up and nodded which only seemed to put the fury in Cal. "We'd be fuckin' daft to keep headin' the way we are! Have you lost your sense?"
Tim and Rud turned their eyes to Bale waitin' for a response. Cal had a mouth on him, plain and simple as that, and it were often times that mouth got him in a fair bit o' trouble. But despite his complete lack of respect for authority and full knowledge of the shit he spewed out, it was seldom he backed down after what was said was said. Standing from his sittin' position he glared down at Bale. "Huh? Why do we keep headin' the way we-"
"You scared?" asked Tim.
Cal turned to look down on him with a big grin, and Bale winced. It was a damn fool of a question, that. He'd never been scared in his life, Cal. Didn't know what it was to be scared. "Feared of a few Wretches? Me?" He gave a harsh laugh. "Might be you're confused," Might be Timmet was. Though Cal submitted to the seniority of Bale and Rud, he was not so low as to be laughed at by Timmet. He was a talented lad to be sure, but a lad none the less, and one who still needed to realize he barely had room for a trickle in this piss pot they called fire talk. "They don't scare me, small lad, no more than a piss ant like you does, but I don't just plan to charge headlong into what's probably a slaughter waitin'. Some of us take value in our lives thank you, and mind my words, yours ain't worth no more than mine, Stone Eyes."
"Stay that tongue o' yours, Cal," Tul muttered. "Or it might be I take it for you. You forget Stone Eyes is chief outside of home, something you might start rememberin'." There was a promise in there somewhere. "You'd do well to mind yours as well, Tim."
A silence fell over the four, but was quickly lifted by a forced cough from Bale. " Now I don't care for your words, Cal, but you're speakin' more sense than most might think you have." That seemed to be enough praise for the man to take his seat once more and lean in to listen with the others. "Now I don't give a rat's ass for Ironfist, no more than the rest o' you, but in the end, he's still our chief and we'll do as were told now."
Their leader had spoken but even then it was only from years of deep rooted loyalty that they didn't question his judgment. Bale turned his gaze from Cal's frown, to Timmet's blank stare, and, lastly, met Rud's hard eyes. None of them were happy about it, that was plain. But he couldn't bring himself to hold it against any one of them. Ironfist was no fit leader, and for the past few years, they watched as unnecessary sacrifices brought many of their comrades back to the mud, it were actions such as those that put the fury in even Bale's blood.
"If he keeps on like he is, then there'll be little worry about who's chief," Cal muttered darkly. Leather hissed as the man pulled his long sword from its bindings, and a scraping noise commenced as he moved a whetstone up and down the edge. They all knew what them words meant as well, no one planned to challenge them either. Might be they were true. Who's to say?
"Right then," Stone Eyes said. "We'll eat and rest up. With any luck, we'll be reaching Grenn's neck o' the woods by this time tomorrow."
Timmet tramped back with an arrow knocked and his face red from exhaustion. The three of them looked at him with a feeling of dreadful curiosity but, ultimately, it would be Bale who posed the question. "How many?" And when the lean boy's eyes fell in response, Bale's stomach lurched miserably.
"Ten, and even at a distance the smell o' blood's plain. From the look of the corpses around the place, most have been migrants coming up from the south." So the wretches could think. Well that was just fucking perfect. "Might be we should go around?" he questioned with a doubtful sense of hope.
Stone Eyes shook his head. With the river as high as it was, that bridge was the only safe crossing they had without heading twenty miles to the left or thirty to the right. "Ain't no way to do it, strange thing though. What do the wretches gain from cutting the lower clans off from the north? Far as I've seen, they've simply scavenged and not much else."
Cal and Timmet merely shrugged, but Rud gave it a little extra thought. "Might be they're running low on supplies like most others. Blocking off a road is one of the surer ways to profit 'round here." True enough Bale figured. Though something told him it wasn't quite so simple.
Cal spat a wad of brown spit out onto the dirt. "Ten's nothing! We can do for'em alright!" he patted the hilt of his blade. "Least I'm willing to unless y'all'd like to head on back for home."
"Ten ain't nothing," Rud said. Bale quietly agreed with that bit o' wisdom. Ten wretches still had twice their numbers with two to spare.
"What's it to be Chief?" Tim asked.
"Weapons?" Bale inquired, lifting his own blade from its scabbard. Timmet gave his bowstring a twang and checked over the feathers of his shafts while Cal scratched at a bit of rust on the surface of his own weapon like a doting mother fussing over her child. Rud didn't need to show his weapon, for even if the massive length of steel hanging on his back was worthless, his fists would do all the same. Stone Eyes did well to check the knives hanging at his belt as well. "Can never have too many knives," was something his father might've said, and whether he did or not, Bale had a tendency to agree with the statement.
"Right," the joints in his neck popped with a jerk of his head, "Tim, you'll be in the trees and'll start firing once me and Rud pull'em our way. We can take a few, so if it happens that only a few follow us, you and Cal will get those left on the bridge." All three of them nodded and responded with less than audible mumbling. "Then let's get on with this bloody business and hope we'll be sleeping under a roof tonight," Bale grinned, earning a nervous chuckle from Tim. "And one last thing," he turned and looked to them all individually. "Wait for the fucking signal."
Cal laughed, "Aye, chief," and with those final words, they spread out along the brush.
With a man of Rud's stature at his side, Bale found their attempts at "sneakin'" almost laughably pathetic as the ground shook with each step the man made. He said nothing though, and kept wading his way through the tangled shrubbery with the giant at his tail. The pair moved as far down as they could before axe scarred trees became more apparent along with the stumps that seemed to litter the muddy ground below. The wretches might be a little less empty headed then they all had originally thought. Clearing trees out took a reasonable amount of thinkin', a sure strategy when one wanted to have a full vantage point of what was to come. The tallest of the age old sentries still stood though, dotting a space of land here and there but it was mostly a clear twenty yard stretch between them and the bridge; it was a rickety old thing that seemed to rattle with the mildest of a breeze.
Two of the little ones snarled out bestial sounds at one another in the atrocious tongue that some were beginning to call the black speech. They held tightly strung short bows at their sides, while a few others, armed with sword and shield, roamed about in front of them. It was a standard defense to be sure, but an effective one none the less. Keep your range to the back and have your swords to the front. Bale's eyes narrowed in contemplation, as he leaned up against the last barrier between them and no man's land. His heart was thumping with anticipation alongside the heavy, ragged breaths of Rud behind him. Stone Eyes clenched the hilt of his blade, and turned around to give his fellow Chasind a brief nod.
He lunged out the nearest wretch gave it a backhanded blow across the skull and spraying flecks of bright crimson across the clearing. "Fucking Wretches!" he roared and shoved the point of his weapon through another before the creatures could even realize they were under attack. An arrow looped its way from the trees and stuck itself through the neck of one of the unfortunate little darkspawn with the bows. Rud's thunderous charge was never to be missed as Bale dove for the side lest he be caught in the big man's path. The giant swung with such force, the wretch he struck was lifted from its feet and launched ten feet into the air before coming back down with a crunch.
A blade reached for Bale, but a quick flick from his own and the blow was batted away. 'Smarter than we may have thought,' he thought as he cleaved an ugly head from a set of shoulders. "…but they're still wretches." Blood sprouted from the severed neck like a thick, black fountain. He saw Cal out the corner tearing into two opponents at once with dirk and dagger, their screeches echoing through the forest as he nicked at every vulnerable spot on them. Two precise slashes to the throat ended the miserable wailing almost instantly. The remaining archer waddled around frantically trying to knock an arrow, and for an instant, Stone Eyes thought it might've succeeded, that was, at least, until a shaft sprouted from its belly and the beast slumped to the ground.
Bale turned his head just in time to see Rud cut a larger wretch from shoulder to hip, its innards all spilling out in a chaotic disarray of mismatched colors and organs all mixed together with oily, black blood. The last kill was to be Cal's as The Chasind Warrior reared back and sent his knife twirling through open air and landing in a fleeing darkspawn's neck, the wretch tumbling to the ground face first.
The carnage had only lasted for maybe a few seconds, the end result being any and all enemies dead before they could even lift a blade in defense. Cal walked over to the last kill and wrenched his now black dotted dagger from the creature's corpse. He wiped the steel off on his leggings, grinning like a wolf as he admired the butcher's work they'd done and spat on the carcass nearest to him. "What say we give these cunts some warm beds tonight, eh Stone Eyes?" The insolent smile on his face never gave ground, not even to Bale's hard look.
"Aye," Bale chuckled, cleaning the blood from his own sword. He looked up at Rud's looming form. "Mind going for some firewood, big lad?" The mountain said nothing, but nodded and lumbered off into the woods obediently, he passed Timmet as he went; the skinny scurried out of the brush with all the grace and agility of a cat and came up to his chief's side standing at full attention. The old warrior laughed hard and slapped the boy on the back. "You did good, boy," and those seemed to be the right words as the lean hunter beamed with youthful arrogance and pride.
"'Ppreciate the sentiment, but what do you need of me at the moment?" Though his breaths were steady, Bale noticed the quickened pace. He was high of adrenaline and wasn't quite ready to cool off yet.
Scratching his chin, Stone Eyes jutted a finger in the direction behind him which led to the bridge. "I want you to look around nearby just to make sure we aren't missing any wretches. Would be an awful shame to get past this sad little crossing just to be put to the sword in our sleep. Just make sure you're-" He needn't finish, for the lad was already halfway across leaving just Bale, Cal, and a post mortem battlefield that was decorated with the fine reds, blues, purples, and blacks that were presented in the form of detached limbs, the occasional piled innards, and blood, gallons upon gallons of the dragon piss.
Bale smirked as Cal eyed him suspiciously. Realization formed on his face instantly. "Fuck no! Forget it!" he spat, waving his arms in irreverent opposition to the idea forming in Stone Eye's head. "I'm not your fucking bitch!"
"Clean it up, Cal," the older man said, gesturing to the mess around them. "and pile it up neat, don't half ass it."
"Fuck you!" Bale only laughed at this. "Why the fuck do I always get stuck piling these worthless wretches? I always got to be your damned whipping boy! Ugh!" he groaned, dragged one body onto another. "I swear, sometimes I think you cut them all to hell just as to have a joke at ole Cal's expense!"
"Just get to it and I'll help you in a minute. We killed the fucking lot of 'em, so be happy for a few minutes. We can bitch later."
"Yeah, we killed 'em alright, but there be thousands more where we're going it seems," Cal argued, tossing an arm into the steadily growing pile.
"And we'll kill those all the same just as well. Back to the mud, eh?" Bale asked.
"Aye, chief. Back to the mud."
The day went quiet for its entirety, and once the corpses had been burned, the four warriors continued along the trail well into the evening until finally reaching the Murky Moat; it was the stronghold to one of the largest clans south of the river, and it was under the rule of Grenn, Bear of the Swamps.