The Three Adventurers Pt. 01

She heard Gunjon's weary sigh before giving his order and dozens of swords, bows and crossbows rattled with it.

Also standing at almost 7 feet in height and matching Lyanne in strength he made for a formidable opponent, although he surpassed her more than twice in age.

He readied himself, both his huge paws wrapped around the hilt of his blue sword and took another bow.

"You may begin," he grinned and offered the first strike.

"You're too kind," she replied and drew her blade in one swift motion and clashed it into his.

Ser Lundor was just as powerful and graceful as she remembered him. Well, almost. His strikes would have cleaved soldiers and horses in half and any lesser men could never have performed such wide swings without losing their balance. But he stood firm and lashed out to Lyanne with deadly precision. She expected nothing less. Her shield and her longsword were of the finest iron and forged by the greatest masters, still, they wouldn't withstand a single strike of his. She had the advantage in speed though. She dodged him with ease and was almost filled with a sense of disappointment to have faced him when was already past his prime. Nevertheless, she enjoyed the duel for a bit longer until she heard his breaths come loud and hard to him behind his helmet. This was her time to strike. Lyanne pushed her shield into him and targeted his right side, which he kept open on a few occasions. She didn't intend to strike him with her blade, but she needed to make the man mountain surrender his reach. So, she pushed forward and bashed her shield against his side and chest until he stood cornered with his back to the railing and had no more space to swing his mighty sword against her besides obvious strikes from above.

One such strike missed her by only a few inches and carved a hole into the sturdy bridge that would have swallowed half a wagon whole. Lyanne simply had to step aside, block his desperate fist with her shield and lunged her sword to the narrow slit from which his wide eyes greeted her. She stopped an inch before she would have blinded him.

"I would consider surrender, Ser Lundor," she said, barely out of breath unlike him.

"For the first time."

"Guess... there is... a first time... for everything," he grunted and smiled again before lifting his legendary sword with one hand and tossing it to her feet. "I yield. Looks... like the... stories about you were not exaggerated. Lyanne Ironarm."

"Neither were they about you, Ser Lundor," she returned kindly and stepped back to address the men at the palisade, which seemed to number around fifty at most.

"We have a pact. I promise you, none of our brothers in profession have to fear any harm from us if they put down their swords. Tell your comrades and now open the gate," she shouted in triumph.

Rarely did victory taste as sweet as when the gate opened, while Gunjon and the boys shouted her name with deafening joy. A victory almost as glorious as her first tournament, and just like back then she could only think of one thing -- today's gotta be a good day!

Fel observed the duel from a distance in silent admiration and a raging boner. There was never any doubt Lyanne would lose the fight. The orc smirked when she saw her comrade address the defenders after her triumph and heard everybody cheer... and then they all just passed through the gate.

"Oh shit!"

This wasn't planned. She was supposed to join up with Lyanne once she was through the defences, but she wasn't ready yet. The guys weren't ready. A dozen axes had taken over from the orc's massive weapon and torn down the palisade for the most part. Not enough to pass through it yet though.

Fel already heard the first desperate orders given to the archers to focus on Lyanne's attack instead of their, by now, evident distraction.

"We need to go faster," she growled into the sweaty and tired faces of the men around her. "Step away, guys," she snorted and grabbed her axe with both hands and slammed it into the wall of wood.

Back home she would have felt sick over the thought of hacking down trees, the centre of her people and faith, but she barely wasted any thought over such a thing when she was driven by haste like this. Not that the trees here weren't already dead and frail without her doing. She hoped.

A few strikes were all it took until she was through and rushed into the outer ring under the shocked eyes of the few scattered defenders who weren't already choosing Lyanne over them. They were all small and skinny, wore no iron-skins like the others and looked like they were about to piss themselves any second. And they all wore the banner of Lord Prick's brother.

"Do not give me a reason to smash you," she hissed back when the first few quivered too much to nock their arrows. They looked not just like farm boys they also fought like ones. At least those who first greeted Fel and her men behind her, most others were drawn to hold Lyanne and Gunjon back as they led the attack at the inner gatehouse. These little cowards made use of that chaos to rain down arrows from up on the palisade and straight into Lyanne's men's back as they prepared the battering ram.

Fel tossed a few of those fragile weaklings down the ramp if they weren't faster surrendering as she was grabbing them. It wouldn't kill them, but they wouldn't pick up a bow for some time for sure. Until she saw one of them lining up his shot and letting loose. Her grey eyes followed the arrow as it whistled through the air and sank directly into Lyanne's thigh. Her strong, thick, naked thigh. It wasn't enough to stop someone as strong and formidable as Lyanne, but seeing her clearly in pain bloodied filled the orc with a rage she hadn't felt in months.

"You!" Fel yelled at the top of her lungs and shouted so loud even the cheering archer noticed her 30 feet away.

She rushed towards him, both hands wrapped around her battle axe and tensing all her muscles as she stormed up the wooden ramp ignoring anyone who stood between her and him.

"You little shit!"

The small guys' grin was washed off his face and he could see death coming down on him when the 7'4" orc stood right before him, hissing like a beast in pain.

"Fuck..." he muttered and didn't even try to move before he turned into a puddle on the floor.

Fel growled furiously and looked around with bloodlust, her tusks bared with pure rage as she exploded with a primal Warcry rarely to be heard beyond the big rocks. Every single one of those pathetic little rats hurled their bows to the ground and ran away screaming.

She just kept yelling at them in her native tongue, cursing every single one of them as they scattered.

Her own men were gathering around her once they caught up to her and exchanged worried looks that came with cautious whispers. Only then did Fel came back to her senses and realised the reason for her blood to boil was no more.

"Fel... you... alright?" some asked.

"Yeah. Now I am," she replied and collected herself as she spotted Lyanne once again leading from the front. "Why are you all staring? Never see blood before? Chop, Chop, little ones, after me."

Everyone just shared a baffled look and ignored the bloody puddle Fel left behind and followed her closely, thankful she was fighting on their side.

Syn's neck was stiff, her back felt like she awoke three hours too early after a night bedded on glass shards. As one could expect hiding in the bushes for over 4 hours. It took her three to sneak into the inner circle and two more to get into position in which she sat completely motionless ever since, waiting for the perfect opportunity. Yet, the fatigue of her ears outdid the rest of her body ten times combined.

Lord Bendric, or the "true" Duke of Hammark as he elucidated every other sentence was as much a tiring figure like his brother. He might have been a bit more experienced and looked slightly more like he could be mistaken as a man who actually knew how to wield a sword, but he was cut from the same cloth when it came to pure arrogance. Every year and every inch he had on his little brother came with wisdom only he was convinced he called his own.

Too often did he offer his counsel to Karstjan, a man rightfully renowned for his sharpness and strategic prowess, without every offering anything worthwhile even a blind fool would see in an instant. And when poor Karstjan was visibly annoyed enough to cut his politeness short he turned to his peers, all obedient counts and lords dressed in expensive garment and wearing their oaths on their lips, to bestow them with his wisdom on how he would have won that battle by himself already. One could only wonder if Daeron has proclaimed his loyalty with the same devotion as the other lords before he broke his oath.

Truly, bushes were greater company than the crowd she had the misfortune of listening to for hours, mere feet away from her hideout. Syn's hazel eyes roamed through the inner encampment from between ragged branches. Their numbers were cut thin, but she expected that. What she didn't consider was how quickly Lyanne forced her way through the outer gate and as it seemed with little to no struggle.

"What is he doing?" Lord Bendric said with growing agitation when distant cheers joined in. "What is that idiot doing?!"

"It... seems... Lundor lost, my lord," the clearly baffled veteran muttered accompanied with strokes for his grey beard.

Syn knew he only did when he was shocked and needed to gather his thoughts.

"Then what are you waiting for?! Go down and fix this! I won't let my treacherous brother have today's victory and I'll be damned if he'll claim my birthright for himself!"

Quite cathartic to see how sudden such a self-proclaimed expert in battle and strategy could lose his composure and turn into the same screeching buffoon as the one on the other side of the Durstrom. "Must be running in their family", Syn thought.

"Of course... my Lord," Karstjan said in cold-boiling disdain and ordered his herald to sound the trumpets.

"Half of you follow me," the experienced mercenary and unlike his contractor, a proper leader of men, commanded in a thunderous voice and was handed his sword and shield. "The others deal with that orc."

"Aye!"

This was the moment Syn had waited for. She braced herself and reached into her pockets and readied her daggers as her entire body ached to end this hour-long torment.

"Can you believe this? Idiots! I'm surrounded only by idiots," Lord Bendric shouted as he returned to his vassals on top of his noble steed.

"Indeed, my Lord. Idiots, just id-" one of his lackeys join in, just to be interrupted immediately.

"Don't give me that," he spat in a fit of rage. "You all aren't any better. If you would have rallied your men in time, we would have crushed them already!"

Lord Bendric's blonde mane shook in the wind, his blue eyes wide and burning, when even he must have begun to realise that defeat stood before his doorstep. Just like death.

Syn grabbed the juicy red apple from her pocket and noiselessly stuck it out from her coat of green until the duke's horses' nostrils flared with obvious excitement. It was fair to assume some narcissist like Lord Bendric didn't treat his animals better than his subordinates, but no matter how well-fed, no horse would be able to resist an apple dunked in asterea.

A few whiffs of that particular elvish liquor made for a powerful perfume. A few drops restored a lover's stamina for an entire night of fun. And a few more drops poured onto a juicy, plump apple would have been irresistible to any steed.

Lord Bendric pulled his reins tighter when his black stallion grew unwieldy and dug his heels into its side, but his will was as insignificant to his horse as it was to the rest of the world.

"What came into you?!" he growled and thumped his legs into his horse's side again and again without any reaction. "I swear... I'll make saus-"

Too late he saw the single hand holding the red apple emerging from the thicket that spanned most of the hill, and knew he made a grave mistake. He had no time to react when a green figure came to live in front of him with brown eyes staring at him with razor-sharp focus and two shinning daggers in hand once he trotted into reach.

Syn's strike was swift and final, leaving a wide spray of blood emerging from his headless shoulders that never came close to her green cloak. She caught his head by his free-flowing blonde hair. His face still wearing an expression of surprise as his body fell of his stallion, who enjoyed his special treat with no care in the world.

She looked over to the other noble men, Lord Bendric's so called "friends" who not one of them even contemplated avenging their liege.

"I'd advise against doing anything stupid," the 6'5", hooded woman said coldly and sent them toppling over each other in a race of who could stumble down the hill the fastest.

Truly, the bravery of nobility knew no bounds.

Syn stood on top of the hill alone and looked down at the battle raging before her. Like always, Fel and Lyanne played their roles to perfection and pulled Karstjan's forces apart to provide the opportunity she needed.

She stretched her arms and pulled back her hood, her hazel curls flowing wildly in the wind, as she held Bendric's head into the sky and whistled as loud as trumpets.

All fighting seized within seconds once the defenders realised who greeted them from the top of the hill. And who the voluptuous figure holding his Lordship's head was.

"Listen up, everybody," she shouted when she clutched all the attention there was. "Today was a day of battle. A battle among brothers. A battle among Lords. And as such common men were not given a choice this day. You are offered a chance now. All loyalty you had to this man died with him. Whatever association you had died with him."

The curvaceous half-elf slowly descended down the slope, the golden-haired head still held like a banner before her.

"This is not the day to throw your life away for. Not for feuds among noble children and oath breakers. Lay down your weapons my brothers in profession and you are free to leave the field of battle with your honour intact. Lay down your weapons, sons of Hammark and you may serve your new Lord with the same bravery you did his brother. Refuse and you will meet your end by the hands of Big Green and Lady Perfect over there. The choice is yours," Syn concluded and tossed Lord Bendric's, second of his name's, head towards the feet of those who still held the inner gate.

The common folk didn't know who to turn to, for the noble men which forced them into today's battle were nowhere to be seen. So, the first threw his sword down, and then another, until a loud orchestra of bows, maces and swords clashing onto the ground echoed through the air.

Karstjan, leader of this utmost prestigious band of mercenaries, walked up to Syn with not an ounce of anger or frustration.

"Impressive entrance. I should have known you were up to something," the veteran of hundred battles said and held his sheathed sword into the air as sign of his surrender. "We accept your offer, Syn. Good battle."

Syn's smirk grew wider when she saw his comrades follow his example and all presented their sheathed weapons for the first time they ever admitted defeat.

"You and your men are welcome to join our celebrations in our camp. Drink and food are on us," she offered and saw the familiar face lighten up with what almost bordered on pride.

"That's the least you can do. You costed us a lot of gold today," Karstjan grinned.

"Gold well-earned, I'd say," she replied and clapped his padded shoulder. "And sorry for not killing him earlier. I could tell you wouldn't have minded."

"Not one bit," he laughed and made both bands of mercs erupt in cheers when he pulled Syn's hand into the sky and officially proclaimed her and her men victorious.

It must have made for a bizarre sight to the forcefully enlisted peasants, for they all looked baffled beyond belief even when they were brought away. Clearly, honour among foes a concept lost on the common folk and nobility alike. But to those fighting under a lot of Lords and countless banners the respect and chivalry amongst their own was a currency easily as valuable as gold.

"I will bring wine," Karstjan chanted when he and Syn walked through the inner gate, making both groups of mercs cheer him on like one.

"A good drop would be greatly appreciated," Syn laughed at her old companion and then she spotted a more urgent matter. "Would you excuse me, Karstjan?"

"Of course."

Lyanne listened to Syn's speech with such fervour she fully forgot about the arrow sticking out her leg. The pain didn't return until she saw her and Ser Lundor's commander coming through the gate together.

"Fuck..." she muttered when she at last was no longer filled with awe or the heat of battle.

The knight sat down when the world around her turned into one of embracing brotherhood amongst sell-swords. She began pulling at the shaft and only reluctantly admitted that this shot had been a great one. Right in between her massive quads.

"You had to ruin my day, didn't you," she muttered to herself and began pulling.

"Hopefully not all of it. Let me do this."

Syn stood above her, draped in her plain green robe, which only someone of her proportions could possibly make look this appealing.

"Surely not," Lyanne laughed back and surrendered her leg to her commander's touch.

"Right through. This is what you get for not wearing full armour," Syn said and ripped her cloak without hesitation. "Does it hurt as much as it looks?"

"Nah... it's fine."

"You don't have to play the tough one for me, Lyanne."

But she wanted to.

"Ready?" Syn asked and took hold of the shaft.

"Read-"

The arrow was gone before Lyanne could even fully brace herself. As much as the hole in her leg burned with pain, she withstood it without even a flinch.

"Let me guess. Those tree trunks got finally too big for your armour?" Syn asked and began bandaging.

"I needed a new set anyway."

"You could've just stopped making them bigger, you know?" the hazel-haired woman said warmly, yet with some bite. "Would've made for a less easy target."

"Well... I might have to think about it," Lyanne smiled back with reddening cheeks, when she realised Syn's warmth still graced her thighs.

Heavy footsteps shook the floor next to them, ones Lyanne had felt coming for some while, but she was too drawn into the moment to notice them until they were stopped next to them.

"Do you need help, Lyanne?" Fel asked, with what sounded like genuine worry.

"Does it hurt?"

"Nah... I'm fine. Just a fleshwound," the knight said, her eyes still yet to stray away from Syn.

"Hoho! Someone enjoyed herself, huh?"

Their commander eventually addressed the green giant first and the way she laughed made Lyanne take notice too.

She was almost face to face with Fel's pulsating oversized erection. How could she possible expect anything else? Lyanne wasn't drawn into a sight she surely could've done without, for something else piqued her interest and turned her mood sour.

"Clearly. You remember what I said, Fel? The part about not killing?" she demanded in a gruff tone.

"Oh, this?" the giant orc said amidst a clumsy attempt of wiping the blood off of her green skin. "I did not kill much. Only one. And he deserved it."

"I made it absolut-"

"Enough bickering you two," Syn interrupted resolutely yet without anger. "One death is a good outcome for a battle like this. You did great. Both of you."

Neither Fel nor Lyanne really knew how to reply to such sweet praise. While the bloodied orc looked much less enthusiastic, troubled by something almost, the wounded knight couldn't have shone any brighter.