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Tim

A prequel episode to Cystia: Land of Fiends

Clink, clang, clang, shing
Went the steel as the swords clashed.
The young man recoiled back further and further, his swordplay mediocre at best. The old man, much more experienced, lashed his sword with grace, and power, each strike a stroke of a brush.
"You should have known better than to challenge me, boy." Said the old man. "I may not be in my prime, but you swing at me like a child to a pinata."
The young man, put off slightly by his words, ducks under the old man's blade and goes on the offensive.
"I can go all day, Pops!" He says, his swings being deftly deflected by the old man. "How long can you hold me off for?!"
The old man dodges his next swing and slices at the younger, his blade lightly cutting his arm. The young man yelps in pain and swings, backing away.
"Long enough." The old man says, unfazed as he changes his fighting stance, beckoning the man to strike.
The young man, angered, charges at the old man, his sword clutched in both hands. The old man, expecting this, deflects his blow and raises his sword to the young man's throat. Stunned, the younger looks between the sword and the victor, a look of shock on his face.

"I win. Again." The wizend old man says, drawing his sword away from the man's throat and sheathing it. "You really must work on your swordsmanship, Tim."

Tim throws his sword on the ground in frustration.

"Damnit, Damnit, God Damnit!" He says, angrily walking over to a rock and sitting. "3 weeks, and no progress! I'm still getting my ass handed to me!"

The old man calmly walks over to Tim, each step silent as he strides.

"It is alright to fail, Tim." The man says, putting a hand on Tim's shoulder. "If one succeeded in everything one did, one would learn nothing of the world around oneself." He takes a seat next to a more relaxed Tim on the rock. "And, let's face it, you'll never beat me anyway."

Tim smiles at this fact. The old man was as skilled as 50 men, as fast as a cheetah, and had the strength of an elephant. A natural role model.

"Wow. No need to rub it in, Master Kalei." Tim says, a small grin on his face. Kalei smiled back through his gruff, silver beard.

"Like freshly cut lemons on an open wound..." Kalei says, looking away. "... Would you like to know the secret of becoming a master warrior, Tim?"

At the sound of these words, Tim instantly perks up, and looks at the veteran besides him.

"Really?! Tell me, Master Kalei!" He says, nodding.

"If you insist..." The old man says, standing with his back to Tim. "The first step... is to wake up."

"... What? What do you mean?" Tim asks, confused.

"Wake up, Tim." Master Kalei responds simply, still facing away from Tim.

"I don't understand, what does that mean?" Tim asks, unable to comprehend. Kalei turns suddenly, his hand raised and a look of fury on his face.

"WAKE UP!"

Tim feels the back of a hand hit his face.

********************************

"OW!" Tim shouts, rubbing the side of his face.

"WAKE UP, GODDAMNIT! THE BANDITS ARE AT OUR GATES!" A voice says. Tim opens his eyes, and as they slowly adjust to the light, he sees a figure over him.

"Who's there?" Tim asks in his weak state.

"The ghost of Christmas past. Open your fucking eyes!" The voice says. When Tim can finally see properly, he sees none other than Jerry Finland, a fellow mercenary, standing over him.

"... Jerry? What's going on?" Tim says, sitting in his makeshift cot.

"I've told you already! Bandits!" Jerry says, pulling Tim to his feet. "Put on your armor, grab your shit, and get to the camp gates." He leaves through the tent flap. "Prepare for a fight."

Tim sighs as he grabs the duffle bag under his bed, opening it to reveal leather shoulder pads and a sheathed sword. Another "bandit raid". Tim thinks to himself. Third one this week. All they do is talk shit at our gates, but as soon as we get the fight ready, they piss off.

After Tim slips on his armor and equips his sword, he opens the tent flap, the bright noon sun momentarily blinding him.

"It's high noon..." Tim says to himself.

As he looks around the shoddy camp, among the poorly constructed tents and the smell of hard liquor, he sees the main force congregating behind the camp gates. As he walks over, he hears a voice from the other side.

"YOUR DAYS ARE NUMBERED, TALONS!" The shrill voice says. "THE FATED ARMY IS ON IT'S WAY! WE'LL BREAK DOWN YOUR GATE AND PISS ON YOUR CORPSES!"

"Like the time you apparently sent a golem army?" Another voice says, this time coming from the wall scaffold. "Or the time you claimed to have firearms? Or maybe the time you promised to send a Tier 4 troll, who would, and I quote, 'tear us apart and make a bed of our organs'?"

Tim, as with the rest of the corp, look up to the camp walls, addressing their leader as she peers over the edge at the lone messanger.

"You say these things, but nothing has come." She says, her face blank, to the savage 3 stories below. She then spits down at the man, hitting him in the eyes.

"Go fuck yourself." She says, turning as the man rubs the spit from his eyes. As she walks away, the man turns tail and runs, shouting curses.

"WE WILL BURY YOU!" The man says, as he runs out of earshot, stumbling down the dirt road. The commander chuckles a bit, before adressing the mercenaries below her.

"As you all have just heard, it was another false alarm. But this doesn't mean that you can all go back to eating, drinking, sleeping and playing in the mud like pigs." She says, glancing over her troops with her visible eye. "I want you all on high alert. Double patrols. No drink, sleep, or horseplay until nightfall. You're all dismissed."

"YES MA'AM!" The crowd says below her, saluting in unison, if some a little begrudgingly. Captain Bloodsteele nods at her soldiers, before turning away.

"This is just great..." Tim overhears a merc saying. "Double patrol duty. Without break. Again."

"I wouldn't complain, if I was you." Another says. "Don't want the captain hearin' ya. She scares me."

"I heard that she once fought 5 trolls at the same time."

"I heard that she ripped a man's heart out through his throat."

"I heard that she killed 2 guys with both hands tied behind her back. Just her legs."

"Heh... I'd kill myself for those legs..." Tim hears from another random colleague, before a prompt *whack* is heard.

"Don't say shit like that."

Soon enough, Jerry appears, beckoning Tim to him. "Tim! C'mon, let's go on patrol!" He says, enthusiastically. Jerry was one of those "born for the job" type of guys. He doesn't care if he's in battle, on patrol, or cleaning the latrine. He's a merc, and that's all he needs. Tim sighs, and follows his friend on the patrol route.

********************************

Soon enough, after hours of uneventful patrols and training, the sun finally touches the horizon. Tim's patrol was called in, replaced by fresh mercs from the training area. Before Tim and his fellow mercs started their 3rd hour-long  training session, they were allowed an hour of break time.

As the rest of the mercenaries ate food and talked amongst themselves (some even sneaking a swig from respective flasks now and then), Tim sat alone, watching the sun slowly dip under the horizon. A natural hourglass, as when the sun disappeared, training would start.

"Hey, Tim!" Jerry shouted, calling him over. He was sitting at a table with some other fellows (some not-so-clearly inebriated). Begrudgingly, Tim stands and walks over to the small group.

"What is it, Jerry?" Tim asked. "I'm trying to relax."

"Sorry to bother, but, uh..." Jerry reaches under the table and pulls out a small lute. "... Can you play this for us? Any song will do." He says, handing the lute to Tim.

Tim raises a hand. "C'mon, Jerry. I just wanna go relax." He says, eyeing the lute. "And besides, I haven't played in a while."

"Come on, Tim! Just one song?" Jerry insists, moving the lute closer to Tim. "Pleeeeease?"

Tim sighs, and grabs the lute. Cheers from the table members ensue.

"All right, Tim!" Jerry exclaims over the applause. "Just one song, and then you can go back to watching the sunset."

Tim sighs again, pulls up a chair. His hands rests on the strings, and he strums a few, tuning the instrument to his liking.

And, after a few minutes, begins to play, eyes closed in concentration.

Tim was always very good at the lute. Ever since he was a young boy, all he ever wanted more than anything was to be a bard. He practiced every day, always improving. His parents supported him the entire time, and they both loved his music. All was well.

Until... the fire.

After that day, he was taken in by a kind old man. Kalei. Tim rarely played anymore. So, to take his mind off instruments for a while, Kalei mentored him in the art of knighthood, of swordfighting, and of self-peace. Tim even started playing again.

After he passed, he joined the Black Talons, a mercenary group. The training was harsh, and the work was cruel, but Tim was up there with the best of them. No longer was he alone. He finally had a home.

At the end of the music, Tim opens his eyes to the entirety of the corp.

Applause soon follows.

********************************

In the horizon, torchlight is seen, and the massive army marches towards the mercenary camp.

To be continued.

(Hopefully.)

... 1,671 words, 9,198 characters.

Apologies to Mizal and Bucky.

Edit Locked.

A prequel episode to Cystia: Land of Fiends

I'm hooked.

Hey, Tim. A few quick hit thoughts that stuck out to me.


This is a medieval type setting, right? A bit of an anachronism here then: "The ghost of Christmas past."

Numbers ten and below are generally spelled out.

Keep an eye out for contradictory statements: "Soon enough, after hours of uneventful patrols and training, the sun finally touches the horizon."


Good luck.

Actually, it's more like... the future? Only things have reverted back to feudalism... at least, that's what I've gathered from Zag's description of things.

Sorry about the numbers, it's a bit of a hard habit to break.

What do you mean, contradictory? I don't see anything conflicting in that sentence.

"Soon enough, after hours of uneventful patrols..."

If this was after hours of uneventful patrols, it wasn't soon enough.

~Six hours seems soon enough to me. Doesn't seem that long.

It's not.

Yes, it is not that long.

Tim, people don't say "Soon enough, after hours of..." because that's not soon. That's just a fact. Don't try to argue that six hours is soon.

Yeah, it's not even about the actual amount of time passage. When you have the phrases like "soon enough" and "after hours..." of rudimentary boring activity akin to watching paint dry, right next to each other, then you're definitely setting up a contradiction.

Is 6 hours a quick patrol? I'm with Steve, six hours isn't quick in this case, but there are things where six hours is a quick occurrence. But it can't be both quick and slow, throwing both of those phrases together doesn't make sense.

I think I understand what you are trying to say, but I am not 100%.

Tim's confused, shocker.

Yes.

There is no need to be condescending about it, though.

Save your wrath for the non-writing heathens. Tim's halfway to finishing a short story, so he deserves only half your malice. ^_^

Steve should just channel his wrath into writing another story about Tim and a six hour patrol.

 

Tim btw when someone writes a story about you it's courteous to respond, even if it's just to feed the author your tears.

I was glad you entered this though, hopefully you'll keep working on it.

 

Tears? He not only won the encounter in the story, I lost much of my genitals.

Story? Me?

I was not informed of this.

One moment.

Also, it wasn't a six hour patrol. It was two one hour patrols, two one hour periods of rest, and two one hour periods of training. GAH!

If it happened over four hours, it wasn't soon!

YOU'RE NOT FATHER TIME, SENT!

Remember when I said you were my son?

Remember how your name is only one letter away from "Time"?

Remember when I brought Rasputin, Charles the Second, and Genghis Khan to the present so they could wish whatshisname a happy birthday?

Have you ever seen Father Time and I in the same room at the same time?

You're free to draw your own conclusions.

:O

Plot twist.

Eh, yeah. It's a Science-fantasy setting.

Bumping for Hype.

Bumping for Backstory.

Bumping for fufilled self-promises.

Dang Tim! Three months ago! I hope my hype won't go to waste.

Just wait til Christmas Eve.

Because it's a present.

*reaches to strangle*

HYYYYPPEE

What is going on in this thread? Tim, did you write a thing?

He will have a finished written thing in due time, I think.

Yes.

I felt like a dick for not doing 3000 words.

So I wrote another thing.

That's great, finishing things makes for such a warm and fuzzy feeling.

Put line breaks in every ten syllables and you can even put it in the contest!

Yeah, no.

I am already planning on 3 more chapters after this one, though.

Probably gonna repost all the chapters together so I don't keep necroing this thread.

4,260 words.

I am planning on continuing this.

Feedback is appreciated.

 

 

Chapter 2: The Raid

Clap Clap Clap Clap
The applause from the Black Talons was deafening. Multiple cheers were said.
"That was amazing, Tim!" Jerry says, his face flushed from the alcohol. Tim hands him the lute and pats him on the back. There was a dip in the applause as people stopped clapping, but Jerry shouted anyway, loud enough for all to hear.

"Why even be a merc when you could be the best bard in the world?!"

Sadly, everyone heard that.

"Is that a mutiny I hear?" A single voice shouts back. A familiar voice.

The crowd went dead silent, and all turned to face Captain Bloodsteele. The One-Eyed Merc Queen walked through the audience slowly, a path made for her faster than she walked. Some out of respect, but most out of fear. The path lead directly to Tim and Jerry.

"Came to see what all the ruckus was about... and I hear words of treachery." She says, walking to the two mercenaries. She looks between them with her good eye. "Now, which one of you is the bard?"

The two looked between each other. Jerry was still holding the lute, looking down at it in his hands, unable to speak due to the overwhelming presence. Things weren't looking good for him.

"... I am, Captain." Tim says, kneeling in front of Bloodsteele. "My friend is intoxicated, and he didn't mean his words-"

He falls backwards after he gets knee'd in the face. Tim holds his head in pain after his brain rattled in his skull.

"Did I ask for excuses?" The Captain questioned.

"N... No, Ma'am..." Tim says, his nose bleeding from the strike. He slowly sits up to look at her.

"Didn't think so." Bloodsteele says, turning away from him as he tries to stand. "I'm not done with you yet. My tent. Now."

She starts walking away, but hears a thud behind her as Tim collapses back to the ground. That concussion was not good for his balance.

"Oh, for fuck's sake, someone drag him to my tent!" Captain Bloodsteele commands, and two burly Mercs step from the crowd, picking Tim up by his arms. Tim hangs his head and closes his eyes as he feels his legs being dragged across the dirt, towards the command tent.
********************************
"Put him in that chair."

Tim feels himself rise, and lowered into a wooden chair. He slowly opens his eyes, blinded by an overhead light. He sees a blurry, red shape and two large, dark shapes that were also blurry.

"Leave us and make sure I'm not interrupted."

The two dark shapes leave, and the red shape stands alone for a minute before growing. Or is it moving closer? Either way, it was gaining detail, and was starting to cover Tim's vision. It looked like a person with long red hair. They were reaching into their pocket for something. A dagger, maybe? But this one was red, and daggers usually aren't red. Unless, you know, they're covered in blood.

Tim starts panicking, his heart pumping and his breathing quickened, and tries to stand, but the figure holds him down with one hand. They hold the dagger in the other, bringing it closer to his face. Then there's a pop noise.

"Calm down, and hold still. This will only last a second. Say 'ahhhh'." The figure says.

"AHHHH!" Tim shouts in fear.

The figure uses one hand to hold open his mouth and the other to stab the dagger in it. Only, it didn't feel like a dagger. It was smooth and hard as glass. And something was pouring into his mouth, drowning out the sound of his yell. They were trying to drown him in something. It tasted really sweet, but did not feel good going into his lungs.

"God damnit, drink it!" The figure shouted, and Tim complied, drinking the liquid.

The glass was taken from his mouth and he fell forward, coughing up the rest of the red substance onto the ground. When it was all ejected from his lungs, his vision started to clear, and he saw the remnants of the liquid on the dirt floor, slowly sinking in. He saw some grass sprouting from where the puddle once was.

He sat up to his knees and looked around the room. It was a tent, with a table and a map on top of it, a everburning table lamp above it, along with a few more chairs including the one he was sitting in. Two flaps were here, one that led outside, and another that led into a different tent.

And, of course, there was Captain Bloodsteele, holding an empty glass bottle.

"You are either the most stubborn person I've ever seen, or the dumbest! God, I almost drowned you with a health concoction!" She says, walking towards Tim and holding the bottle up in a threatening manner.

Tim backs away, but is stopped by the table as the Captain gets closer.

"Wait, why did you heal me?" Tim asks, pressing against the table.

"Well, I hit you because you were being a little bitch." Bloodsteele replies, flipping the bottle in her hands as she walks towards Tim. "I healed you because... well, hurting you was not what I came to do."

At that point, The Captain is within hitting range of the bottle. But she advances slowly still.

"If it wasn't, what did you-"

Captain Bloodsteele smashes the bottle against the table, grabs Tim by the shirt, and points the receiving end of the broken glass at him.

"Shut the hell up and take a seat." She orders, the bottle inches from Tim's throat. You can see it move as Tim gulps in fear.

"Yes, Ma'am." Tim says, and the Captain throws the bottle on the floor, smashing it to pieces, and releases Tim. They go to their respective seats.

"Anyway..." Captain Bloodsteele continues, "I've been meaning to... Commend you on your actions."

"... My 'actions', Ma'am?" Tim asks, confused. (God damnit.)

"You've proven yourself as more than a mere grunt. Valiant battles, countless successful missions..." Bloodsteele replies. "And, as we've seen tonight, you've recently been a great source of morale among the group."

"... Thank you, Ma'am-"

"I'm not done." The Captain interrupts. Tim is silent again. "While you've proven a great aid to this company, I still see you as unworthy of a promotion. But a vacation, on the other hand-"

This is when Tim interrupts.

"I'm honored, but no thank you, Ma'am."

Captain Bloodsteele is stunned. "... Y-You... You DARE-"

"It's not that I'm ungrateful or disrespectful, Ma'am, but honestly... I would hate myself if something happened and I wasn't here to help." Tim interrupts again, and Bloodsteele is silent. "And besides... I'd be bored out of my mind!"

The Captain thinks for a second, and smiles. "All right, then. I don't think it'd be vacation anyway if you didn't enjoy yourself. However, I think gou have earned some sort of raise-"

Oh look, another interruption. This time, in the form of a mercenary bursting through the tent flaps. Tim and Captain Bloodsteele turn to face them.

"Captain!" He yells, pausing for a second to catch his breath.

"Goddamnit, I said no disturbances!" Bloodsteele shouts. "This better be good, for your sake!"

"Apologies, Ma'am, but... there's Bandits on the way!" The man says, his voice and face reeking of fear. But the Captain is doubtful.

"Oh, really? How many? 5? 6, maybe?" She asks, condescendingly. But the man's face only grows more grim with each passing second.

"... The horizon is covered with them. I can't count that many, but... there's a lot." He finally says. The Captain and Tim suddenly match his expression.

"How did the patrols not catch this?! Call them in and have them defend the walls!" Bloodsteele orders. The man shakes his head.

"They were due about half an hour ago. We fired the recall flare, but they haven't responded. I fear that they may have been ambushed by this army and killed." The man explains.

"Shit! Gather the men and barricade the gates!" She orders. The man shakes his head again.

"The men are gathered at the entrance, but the gate has been sabotaged. We can't close it, and even if we could, we can't keep it closed." The man replies. "We may have a snake in our field."

"Fuck!" Bloodsteele curses, hands running through her long, red hair. "... We'll have to meet them head on. Ready all battalions to be deployed on the field in defensive positions. Spare two archer battalions to defend the walls and provide covering fire with their longbows."

"Yes, Captain!" The man says, saluting and running out the doors to relay the orders to the mercenaries.

"Looks like your reward will have to wait." Captain Bloodsteele says to Tim. "Go ready yourself with your group. You're dismissed."

Tim nods, salutes, and rushes to be with his Swordsmen battalion.
********************************
Tim is at the gates with his fellow mercs, a sword in his hands, ready for the fight to come.

Captain Bloodsteele stands at the front, leading her soldiers.

"Look at these degenerates!" She shouts, gesturing to the approaching army on the skyline. "They think they can take us! They think they can destroy the Black Talons! Tell me, boys: CAN THEY?!"

"NO WAY!" The men shout in unison, a practiced motion.

"That's right! That's downright disrespectful! What are we gonna do, men?!" She shouts.

"WE'LL FIGHT!" The men shout.

"What next?!" The Captain asks.

"WE'LL WIN!"

"And why?!"

"TALONS! NEVER! LOSE!"

"That's right! And so..." Captain Bloodsteele pulls out her signature weapon and raises int in the moonlight: a "Five-Seven" pistol, one she found on a dead enemy commander during the looting process, which she claimed for her own. She calls it 'The Killing Blow'; and she's pretty good with it.

"With this shot..." She continues, aiming the gun at the enemy line. At first, Tim wondered how she got more ammunition as time went on. Turns out, she had a blacksmith analyze the weapon and ammo, and provide her with custom blueprints, which she uses other smithies to make more.

"We charge!" She finishes, aiming down the sight. A tradition she took up, one shot from her weapon is fired at the enemy. This not only signals the men to charge, but also usually hits an enemy.

The raid continued.

The gun fires, and a man on the enemy line falls, his comrades stunned and confused. But the Talons had just been fired up.

"CHARGE!" Bloodsteele commands with a sword in the enemy's direction, and all the mercenaries charge forward in their groups. The enemy recovers after a few moments and charges as well.

The Bandits start deploying Bowmen.

"SHIELDS!" The Captain orders, and as horn plays, the shield battalions form a stacked wall of rectangular iron and steel as the arrows rained down on them. No men were lost due to trained reflexes.

The Bandit Swordsmen ran ahead of the Bowmen, who continually rained arrows upon the shields.

"SHORTBOWS! SHIELD FIRE!" The Captain orders, and another horn plays, this time with the same note and a slightly higher note Following it. The top shields turned horizontally and raised, creating a gap in the wall, to which Talon Bowmen rushed to and fired through.

The Bandit Swordsmen were mowed down with the first hail of arrows, but were quickly replaced with more sword and axemen who followed, getting closer and closer to the shields. The Bandit Bowmen had fallen back to reload their quivers.

"SWORDSMEN! SPIKED WALL!" The Captain ordered, and the horn sounded with the shield note and swordsman note. This was Tim's cue. Him and the other swordsmen replaced the Bowmen, who had retreated to restock as well. The wall of shields formed into a link of single shields, with one Swordsman for every Shield. Tim braced himself next to a Shieldman, and they both nodded at each other. Tim turned to the rest of the wall, and locked eyes with Jerry, who sent a wicked smile his way. Then he turn to the approaching army.

Time to party.

The first wave hit the shields hard, but were easily dispatched by the quick stabs and thrusts of swords. Tim killed two. The next wave was smart. The Bandit Axemen yanked the shields away while the Bandit Swordsmen attacked the carriers. Sure, they both died from the following sword attacks, but the wall just lost a section. This repeated multiple times, each time compromising the wall a bit more, each time forcing the wall to slowly recede the line. Tim killed another four before his shield-buddy was disarmed. Literally.

Soon, most of the Talon Shieldmen were dead or injured, leaving only Swordmen with very few Shieldmen in the fight. The Bandits were dead too, but more were on the way. Tim dragged his shield-buddy back from the line, the man's right hand severed and him screaming in pain.

"AXEMEN! SPEARMEN! REINFORCE!"

Two new notes sounded from the horn, and Tim turned to see fresh Mercs to replace the dead and wounded. The Bandit Bowmen, however, had been refilled, and proceeded to ready their shots...

"LONGBOWS! FIRE!"

A horn sounded as Talon arrows blocked out the moon.

The deadly rain had obliterated the enemy Shortbows, most dead and almost all their shots that weren't blocked go wide. They retreated and won't be coming back.

The Bandit Infantry, however...

They charged with all their might in a final push.

Captain Bloodsteele joined her infantry, a sword in one hand, The Killing Blow in the other. She raised both in the air.

"CHARGE!"

The Black Talons ran forward and met the Bandits head on. Swords clashed, steel penetrated flesh, there was the occasion gunshot from Bloodsteele, people died left and right, Talon and Bandit, Enemy and Ally. It was chaos, and Tim was in the middle of it.

He had to have killed at least... five bandits. At least five. The Talons were winning due to trained skill, but the Bandits just kept coming. Eventually, even the Captain was having trouble, and Tim saw this during a grace period. He looked at Jerry, who also saw the captain.

Jerry turned to fight more.

Tim ran to Bloodsteele. She parried swords and axes, but was getting slower. She tried firing, but she was out of ammo. As she fumbled for another clip, an Axeman saw his chance and took it, leaping into the air with a battle cry. Captain Bloodsteele saw this, and she knew her days were numbered. She stumbled backwards, tripping over a deceased and falling to the ground, raising her sword in vain as her mag dropped from her jacket. She closed her eyes, waiting for the finishing blow. The big Dark. The end.

But it never came, and the ferocious roar was replaced with a bloodcurdling scream. Bloodsteele opened her eyes.

Tim had impaled the Axeman on his sword midair, the sword's hilt touching the man's stomach. Tim twisted it, causing the man to scream. Bloodsteele watched as Tim removed the man from his sword as it glistened with the man's blood, reflecting the full moon. And she look at him... In awe, maybe? (She'll probably tell you it was just shock.)

Tim turned and extended a hand to the Captain, who took it after a pause, and helped her up. He picked her ammo up off the ground and handed it to her. She took it, loaded her gun, and chambered it.

Her trademark grin returned, and she ran into the fight again. Tim ran in another direction to do the same.

Soon, there were no more Bandits to be killed, and in the field stood only Talons. A large victory cheer was ensued, but the damage was done. Many Talons laid dead under the moonlight, but luckily, there were more Bandits dead than Talons.

"All right, men! Well fought! Spears, I saw you lacking, so you carry the wounded back while the Archers count the dead!" Captain Bloodsteele commanded. The Spearmen groveled, but some looked relieved to at least be alive. Spearmen are pussies like that.

"All right, boys! It the best time of the day: LOOTING TIME!" Captain Bloodsteele shouted. Another cheer was raised, and everyone was hunched over a body. (They aren't called "Talons" for nothing.) Everyone except Tim.

Usually, he'd be hunched over right now with the rest. He was still in shock at all the dead bodies, but also had questions.

Why didn't Jerry help the captain?

How were the bandits so well armed?

And most importantly, how were there so many?

Tim saw a hint of movement out of the corner of his eye, in a pile of dead. The Spearmen must have missed an injured. Tim walks over to the injured man.

His eyes widened at the sight of an injured Bandit.

Tim leveled his sword at the man. He was big and tattooed, so it was likely he was a commander of some sort.

"Hey! Don't move!" Tim ordered the man, who glared at him with malice. Tim's shouting caught the attention of the Mercs, and Bloodsteele, who approached the commotion.

"What the hell are you on about?" Jerry asks, before seeing the living bandit on the ground. "Shit, we got a live one!" He shouts, and everyone rushes over.

"Alright, pal, you're coming with us." Captain Bloodsteele says. "Tim, grab him."

But Tim keeps the sword leveled.

"How did you get so well armed?!" Tim asks, demanding an answer from the man.

The mercs around him stop and wonder the same thing. "That's a good question..." Tim hears one say. The Bandit stays silent, and Captain Bloodsteele is not amused.

"We can ask questions back at camp. Grab him. Now." She commands again.

But Tim doesn't budge.

"Why were there so many of you?! How are you recruiting, huh?!" Tim asks, his sword moving closer to the man's throat. Bloodsteele, in comparison, starts moving closer to Tim. More murmurs are heard in the crowd.

"Tim! If you don't grab him, I will! And you don't want that!" The Captain threatens. Tim's sword touches the man's throat, causing it bleed a bit.

"Who do you work for?! Who?! TELL ME!" Tim shouts at the man. Bloodsteele was within swinging range. The bandit let out a pained whisper.

" Victoria... Aut... Morte..."

Suddenly, the bandit rips open his tunic, revealing a series of intricate tattoos with a empty large circle in the middle. He slams a bloody hand on it, leaving a bloody handprint that... seeps into the circle's ink. The Tattoo glows red for a second, with a note similar to a tuba playing.

Then, it starts flashing and playing faster as the bandit closes his eyes tight.

That's not good.

"EXPLOSIVE RUNE! GET DOWN!" Tim yells, as the bandit lets out a primal shout. Tim tackles a stunned Bloodsteele out of the way as the bandit explodes in a ball of flame, the force sending the two flying as well as some of the mercs. Tim takes the brunt of the fall, but luckily they landed on more dead bodies. He ends up on his back, panting for breath.

"... That's 2 for 2..." Bloodsteele says, looking down at the man she was currently using as an airbag. She rises to a kneeling position over her human airbag, who looked up at her silhouette in the full moon. "Hope you're ready for the ceremony." The Captain says, patting Tim lightly on the cheek as she rises off him and continues looting. "Show's over, back to work!"

The captain really was... something.

"... Wait..." Tim asks, out of breath. "... What ceremony...?"

********************************
It was about seven or eight in the morning. Tim stood in the middle of a ring, formed of shields. The people behind the shields were either injured, lucky, or weren't Shieldmen.

"Atten-tion!" Someone shouted, as two shields opened outwards in a mirrored, practiced motion, revealing Captain Bloodsteele and the leaders of the different weapon groups. The Shieldleader only had one hand, and a stump that was bandaged recently...

The Captain carried a box about the size of a guitar case, that was rectangular in shape. She walked forward, and the leaders followed suit.

"Kneel before Bloodsteele, Leader of the Black Talons." The leaders said in unison. Tim complied, and the Captain stopped in front of him, the leaders circling around him, all of them forming a second circle. The Shield entrance closed.

"Do you, Tim of Cystia, accept the responsibilities of Talon Master?" Bloodsteele asked, looking down at Tim.

"I do." Tim answers, looking the Captain in the eyes as well.

"To defend the Black Talons at any cost, even your own life?" Bloodsteele asked.

"I do." Tim answers.

"To defend your brothers at any cost, even your own life?"

"I do."

"To defend me at any cost, even your own life?"

"I do."

"To serve the Black Talons, your brothers, and me at any cost?"

"I do."

"To destroy all enemies of the Black Talons?"

"I do."

"And, finally, to serve as my personal bodyguard, champion of my company, and my left hand?"

"I do."

"Then... please..." Captain Bloodsteele says as she opens the chest, revealing a single sleeve of platemail with the Talon logo on the pauldron. "Wear the sleeve of the Talon Master, and never remove it until your responsibilities cease to exist."

The shields start banging the ground to a low chanting by the leaders as Tim grabs the armor. He starts struggling with it, as he's never worn plate armor before. Soon enough, Bloodsteele whispers to him. "God's sake, hurry the fuck up. These shields are giving me a headache."

Tim nods and quickly puts on the armor. The chant ends, and shields give a final, large pound. The air is dead silent again.

"Rise, Tim of Cystia, Talon Master." Bloodsteele commands, and Tim complies. After a second, Bloodsteele motions for Tim to do something. Not knowing what the fuck was going on, Tim guessed and pumped his armored fist into the air.

And the crowd loved it. Applause, cheers, all that shit. A guy took off his shirt and started waving it around. They were all silenced by the Captain, though, with a flick of her hand.

"Now... Leaders. Do you accept this new Talon Master?" Captain Bloodsteele asks, gesturing for the person on her right to start.

"I do." Said the Swordleader. He gave Tim, his former underling, a grin of approval and pride.

"I do." Said the Spearleader, who happened to be a skinny guy that sounded and looked like his balls hasn't dropped yet, because Spears are for pussies.

"You're damned right I do." Said the Shieldleader, who Tim recognized as his shield buddy in the raid. He probably would have been trampled or bled out if Tim hadn't dragged him out of the combat zone.

"I... Do." Said the Axeleader, who you can totally tell is not happy about letting some grunt be the second highest position in the group.

"I do." Said the Archerleader, who looked badass because Archers are badass.

"So, by a unanimous vote... Please welcome your new Talon Master!" Captain Bloodsteele shouts, raising Tim's armored hand in the air. Cheers and applause were in abundance. Tim saw Jerry, clapping and cheering for his friend.
Tim looked at Bloodsteele, who grinned at him, and each of the leaders, except for Axeleader, who was glaring at him and giving that "slow sarcastic clap" thing, and the Spearmaster, because he didn't deserve a second look and to do so meant shame. Also, the sound of one hand clapping is pretty cool.

"All right, all right!" The Captain says, raising both her arms gesturing the troops to turn it down. "Back to business at hand. Archers, start healing the wounded. Axes, set up another route for patrol. Swordsmen, guard the gate. Spears, start fixing the gate, because that seems to be the only thing you guys are good at. Shields, get back to training and recovering. Dismissed!"

With these orders, the Black Talons get to work. The crowd dispersing and the leaders going to coordinate the tasks. Tim starts walking away with the Swordsmen, but Captain Bloodsteele grabs him.

"Where do you think you're going?" She asks, holding on to his unarmored arm.

"Defending the gate, like you ordered." Tim replies, turning to face her.

"Tim, you're not a Swordsman anymore. You're a Talon Master. And my bodyguard, so you're going to watch me sleep." Bloodsteele commands.

"Wait, why are you sleeping while everyone else is-"

Bloodsteele presses the Killing Blow to Tim's temple.

"I'm sorry, I didn't quite catch that. Can you speak louder, and this time into the barrel of my gun?" Bloodsteele asks.

"... N-Nothing, Ma'am..." Tim replies. At this point, Captain Bloodsteele smiles and starts laughing uncontrollably.

"It was a joke! The gun's on safety!" Bloodsteele says, showing Tim the gun. The safety lock was not in place. "See?" She says, pointing the gun at her head.

"NO!" Tim shouts, quickly moving the pistol skyward as the Captain fires, shooting harmlessly into the air. Bloodsteele is wide eyed.

"... Oh..." She says softly, letting go of the gun. Tim clicks the safety in position, and slides it back into Bloodsteele's holster.

"3 for 3." Tim says, sighing in relief. "C'mon, Captain. You look like you need a rest."

Tim guides the Captain to her tent and into bed. He pulls up a chair and watches over her as she sleeps.

Captain, I have a feeling that this is the start of a beautiful friendship...

Okay, judging by that last scene this Captain seems like kind of an idiot, a name like 'Bloodsteele' aside. LOL, a beautiful friendship indeed...

Anyway, I take it this was what the big bandit thread was all about. Only had time for a quick read but you're obviously having fun with this so I hope you do continue it. Watch out for tense switching though, you jump between past and present quite a bit.

That bandit with the magic tattoo was a neat idea, though, I'm guessing exploding magic tattoos on the chest will now be the first thing they check prisoners for...

I'm not sure about the whole thing with naming your protagonist after yourself. Maybe if you'd cleverly disguised him as...Mit or something he wouldn't be open to accusations of being an author self-insert. Though from the first post I guess this was part of some roleplay thing.

I am not good with remembering names, so basically everything is a self-insert.

Thanks for the feedback, Mizal.

Probably gonna make a new thread so that I don't keep necroing this one when I bother to make a new chapter.

Holy Lord, Tim you know how to get a guy moist.

Aside from the mistakes I didn't care about due to me fawning like a fanboy, I loved it. Yeah, I'm biased but I'm happy to add this to the lore of the game.

I like how you would break the fourth wall from time to time, and I can't wait for the next one. It makes me want to write my own about all the other characters.

You know, you can always tell me about the mistakes.

So that I don't keep doing them.

That'd be nice.

Thanks, Zag.

Fucking hell, dude compliments your story, and you get more pissy passive then I've seen from the fucking Council.

Tim will never be forgiven for saying mean words about Ireland.

Never.

He is a spastic who treated apologizing for Hitler's death as worse than genocide and racial internment, promoted America as OK despite it's atrocities and talked down Ireland. Thus, he has forever earned his place as Absolute Cunt, the lowest level on the Steve meter.

What's my level on the Steve meter?

You're at the level of Unwashed Plebian, the average level. My disdain for you is most definitely there, but directed towards so many like you it's fairly diluted.

So, I assume I'm on the same level as Wizzy on the Steve meter? Or do you hate me more?

I don't remember how much stupid things you've done. What's your stance on:

-Steve

-USA

-Ireland

-Dogs

-Cats

All are great except the first.

- Steve: Well, Steve is a nice name. I quite like the way some sapi voices read it. Wasn't there a monkey named Steve in some cartoon?
- USA: Well, I wouldn't want to live there with the current political status. Candy and sweets from there are awesome though.
- Ireland: It has some nice music.
- dogs: They bark.
- cats: They meow.

Unfortunately, it appears you're at the rank of "Random Retard". How unfortunate.

Hey, that's better than I expected. I guess that is because I didn't mention how much I like dogs and cats. That'll make me fall a fiew ranks for sure.

Do me next!

- Well, he's made some valuable contributions, and he makes me laugh from time to time. He tends to be overtly rude and insulting, but 70% of it is humorous. I have an undifferentiated love for him as I do for all members, and I like to make fun of him because I know he can take it.

- I live here, and I agree it's a horrid capitalism-encrusted filth pile, but It's all I've known.

- Steve lives there and Steve is pretty cool, so it must be somewhat okay.

- I love dogs, they make for good faithful companions.

- Cats are alright, they can be mean, but I'm sure they have a sensitive interior. In fact, I think Steve are like cats in this way. Hideous and crusted on the outside, but probably and hopefully nice and warm on the inside.

"In fact, I think Steve are like cats in this way."
Oh boy. Run. You said Steve are like cats. Steve are going to kill you.

I hope not. :D

It's okay, Timbo. I'll read through it again and nitpick.

Later, though.