Wolves, again. They always come when Strumpet stops to drink, every bloody time. The fog surrounding them made things hard to see, but they wouldn't quiet when they were hunting. He could hear them barking and their paws splashing in the muddy grey dirt. It felt like they were laughing at him. Mocking him as they surrounded him. Marek always had to wait for them to come to him. He closed his eyes and listened to the movements, waiting. In a sharp sound he could hear one of the wolves jump out of the fog to attack, but Marek was quicker as flames appeared out of his hands. Burning the bastard beast.
The other wolves could be heard moving away. They fear the flames as all living beasts do. Soon it returned to a calming quiet again. Strumpet finishes drinking without knowing what happened. She looked at the smoking body and just let out a breath through her nose. The Golden steed must be used to the flames. Odd, Marek still felt uneasy when looking at the dancing lights. He could use the magic, but he didn't like looking at its dance. A dreadful Beauty to its Waves of its little tails. When the flames stopped burning, did he get off of strumpet slowly, gently petting the noble mare before walking slowly to the furry Devil.
His injuries were healing yet his body still felt like it was going to tear apart at another heisted move. He takes out a silver knife and begins to skin the wolf. The knife was far too pretty for this bloody work. It's sharp sender blade with an elegant guard showing a lion eating an amber gemstone in its mouth. Merak had gotten it from the Twin moon knight during a feast. It was after the burning of the Hornsents Tower. A celebration for slaughter. Many thought that the war was over and that the golden queen would call them back with grace for a task well done.
Marek knew better. Rellana had given him the weapon for killing the last divine beast of the hornsent. Though most of the praise went to his Lord. He had slain Three of the lions during the climax of the battle. Putting each body on Pikes as a dreadful sight for any remaining Hornsent that their kingdom was gone. They had lost the message of the heavens. They had become lost in more ways than one. Though none of the Impaler kills were the last. It was the only feat that Marek had above his Impaler Lord.
He had always been second best, always with the serpent Lord. However, it was Merak who had silenced the heavens, not Messmer. The knife went through the wolf's hide like cutting silk. A few minutes of cutting turn the wolf naked with its bloody meat. Marek would spend the rest of the evening cooking the Wolf over a fire. The wolf would be the 30th to be eaten. It was the only other thing in the grey fog. Only them and Marek. He had grown tired of wolf meat by the fifth.
He closes his eyes as the wolf cooks on the flames, dreaming of encountering a scorpion so he may make soup. Oh how he missed that black thick stew. He sometimes thought of killing the horse for its meat, but Marek couldn't stomach performing such an act. The steed had proven greater than its namesake as a loyal companion to Marek. Steadfast and dutiful, only needed a little rest and calm under the overbearing fog. Marek softly pets the beautiful beast with a soft smile. He begins to Tear at the cooked wolf meat, but it continues to be too much a challenge for Marek. It tasted sour in his mouth.
A sickly sweet taste. He wanted to spit it out but knew he needed the energy for the next day. Whatever day it was. The sun or sky could not be seen in the fog, only grey skies. The ground was grey with dark green grass for his steed to eat. She seems to be enjoying the joyless grass than Marek has been enjoying his laughing Wolf. Perhaps she just doesn't complain as much as Marek. He could only finish half the wolf before he couldn't stomach any more of its crude taste. Throwing it deep into the sea of grey. He lays down on the grey ground, taking off his beast cloak and pulling around his body for warmth.
He was thankful that the Hornsent returned him his cloak, it was too cold to be alone. The Lions pelt covers the. He lets the darkness consume his sight as he begins to rest. Though what feels like seconds, his vision brightens to the sight of flames. Marek could remember the smell of burning, wood, grass, and bodies. The sounds of Pikes clashing steel and bone. Blood spilling, and the sounds of death around the young beast. Soon, his lord's voice could be heard, command to follow those running towards the woods. Marek was the fastest to follow his Lord's decree.
Running through the tree line, hammer in hand not yet bloody. The flames of the village are soon lost as the darkness of the woods consumes the light. Now it was quiet, not a sound could be heard. Then Marek heard a small cry. He moved quickly, finding a pair of graceless beasts. Wearing simple cloth, horns grow out of their bodies. The bigger one took the appearance of a woman, the smaller one pretended to be a child. The false woman was trying to shield the little one as the beast raised its blunted claw. For that act, it was the first for Marek's Hammer to become bloody as he struck and shattered the woman's head.
Her horns throw to the side. Falling and bloodying the Grass, turning green to red. From life to death. The dead beast and the child disappear as Marek wakes from howling in the distant ring though his ears, those damned wolves. Marek gets up but faces difficulties as his scarred hand trembles. Though the burns healed his hand offered shakes in the morning. Eventually he gets up and gets on his silver steed. The sky was still grey, it could be morning or night for all that it mattered. The howling was still going, it was a first.
They should be stopping by now, yet they keep calling the fog filled skies. Maybe they're also wishing for a fogless day, but they are wolves, they are foolish beasts. Then he heard the chorus of screaming, human voices were singing in terror. The wolves found new prey, prey that wasn't just another beast. Without, thinking his steed started to charge towards the cries. The horse was as brave and stupid as its Rider was. A few minutes of running allowed him to see the light of ghostly blue lanterns. From his view he sees a dozen carts filled with villagers, wearing odd coloured clothes and their few warriors holding curved blades and bows.
The few armoured personnel were wearing colourful segments of plates. Wearing the mask of horned creatures. The wolves were in full force as they feasted on the helpless villagers who were too slow to get into the carts before the wolves ambushed them. They were Bowman on the carts as the swordsman fought the wolves on the bloody dirt. Like a force of nature out of the fog, the Deserter throws balls of black fire around the edge of the fog, forcing the wolves from entering the arena. A few unlikely beasts were caught in the flames, laughing for the last time. The wolves that remained had to deal with the swordsman or worse, they had to face Marek.
Each Wolf that dared challenge him was crushed by his blurted hammer. Each singing a song beautiful to the Deserter's ears. Riding laps around the caravan, striking at each Wolf. Paying back the sleepless nights dealing with their endless cries. It took a few laps to make Marek realize that no wolves remained in the circle of fire. The rest flee to the endless fog to lick their Burns. One of the warriors without a horn mask called to him. A young lad missing an eye. His other was a narrow green. His hair was tied into a tail on top of his head. "Samurai, thanks must be given." The young warrior said with a hint of a tremble in his throat.
"No thanks are required." Marek was glad to kill those little monsters. The young warrior nods his head, "I'm Takaoka Maki, son of Lord Takaoka Atsuo. We were running from war. To the lands of gold." He says his voice tried. "The lands between? The lands of the Eternal queen?" Marek asked. The young man nods with a small smile, "are you one of her warriors? My people Heard of golden Samurai riding beautiful steeds. Tree guardians I think they called." Marek shook his head, "they're called tree sentinels and I do not hold that honour. I'm just Marek. Though for a time I live in that golden land." It was then Marek soon saw the ones hiding in the cart come out in force to meet this strange warrior who had come from the shadows of the fog.
Marek signs as they come upon him with their endless questions and praise. Marek was saved as a few of their armoured warriors were escorting him to their Lord. In the head Cart line with gold and silver laid a dying old man. Cover by fine silk clothes in a room with smelly oils and burning something that tries to make the room not smell of death. It Barely hides the smell of a dead thing. The man's legs were gone, crimson cloth covered his stumps. He looks to be deep in a fever, his clothes were covered in sweat. The old man spoke like a lord even in the jaws of death, "Samurai, thank you. Your strange Sorcery was key in our victory." He said as he nodded in respect before he coughed a bloody lump of spit and blood.
"I'm told you are from the golden lands?" Marek nodded in response "for a time." He said softly. Though it has been a long time since, how long he didn't know. "I know little of the grace of the queen Marika. Please join my service. We would benefit from having a guide." Marek wanted to say no. He would be the last person to know the Queen's grace, and he didn't need to travel with a group of helpless weeps. Though he saw food before he was taken, he could stop eating those beasts. "I would be honoured by my lord." He said bowing towards the dying Lord. The men spoke again, "who do you serve Samurai? The queen of Gold or perhaps one of her blessed children?" Merak's body tense at the questions.
He hides his nervousness behind a stern face "I served under one of her champions before they were killed by those without grace." The old man looked with piercing eyes for a moment before speaking again "you are masterless, a Ronin" the deserter just nodded like he understood what that meant. With a weak wave Marek is taken out of the soon to be tomb back outside. He sees the injured warriors being tended to as some of the villagers are beginning to prepare to cook dinner. Out of nowhere, a group of children was kidnapping Marek to the group of fire pits. "Ronin, we need your fire." They say begging for aid.
Not wanting to make a scene he did as they asked. Soon half a dozen fires were lit. Before Marek could escape, he felt a small tap on his leg, looking to see a small girl with large almond eyes and ragged clothes, she was holding an apple. "Mister, could I feed your horse?" She asked with a weak fragile voice. Marek thought of saying no, but his horse had served him well through the grey days. Sighing, he picks up the weak girl and brings her to the Golden hair horse. Holding out her tiny arms the horse gently eats the apple like a noble proper lady.
"What's its name?" The weak girl asked. "Her name is Strumpet." Marek said plainly. Behind him he could hear a gasp. Turning to see a horrified expression on an old woman's face. Oh, Marek thought, he had forgotten what that word meant. He lets the girl pet the foul named horse until he lets her down as food is prepared. Marek leaned on one of the carts as the same little girl brought him a bowl of food. "For you mister." Marek took the bowl and looked inside disappointed.
It was a soup filled with rabbit meat, some vegetables he didn't recognize and some strange white grain. What did he expect, scorpions. He ate the soup slowly, it was better than Wolf. As he eats the soup, he sees in the corner of his eyes a group of children forming in front of him. Why did there have to be so many of them? "Do you need anything?" Marek asked to be rid of them quickly. "How did you get your scars, mister? Were you on an adventure like old Ida?" Damned the golden queen, why did they have to be so annoying?
"No, I fought under my lord's banner in a great war." Marek said hoping that would be enough. "Who were you fighting?" Another asked. Testing his will. He thought for a moment, he couldn't tell them the truth. He can't let them know he is a deserter of the golden queen or that he had served lord Messmer. "I… was fighting against warriors fighting for a serpent god." Marek lied. "You fought a god!" One of them asked excitedly about the tale. "No, not me, my lord fought him. I just watched." one of them pointed towards something on the strange warriors back "was that they helmet, the god." he looked to see him pointed towards Kodd's helmet attached to his back.
"Oh, no. It belonged to one of his champions that I fought." Marek says in a half Truth. Their eyes brightened, "how did you win mister." another ask. Marek sighs as he tells a story, though not truly his story. Perhaps just a different view of his story.