Old Fang( Quest PVP: Never enough)

[Fenrir]

Smoke filling his nostrils. His head low. Skin dry now, moisture long since scorched off. Screams behind him as the building began to collapse around them. Just how did he find himself in this situation? A hand moving back. Telling the group to stp as he listened. As he smelled the air in front. There was a blow of northern wind. " Get down!". He yelled. Before an inferno rushed through. Diving forwards. Wood falling. Collapsing on top. As the flames burned through everything that had been...

Hours earlier the Wolf of the North had come to this small settlement as a break of sorts fro his scouting for potiental recruits. And of course. For jobs. The last job he had been on had invovlved him lobbing off heads and returning those heads to his employer. And although it had been easy. The tracking of his opponents had been tiresome. The wolf enjoyed the hunt as much as any other. But he longed for the chase. For the open battlefield. To feel the primal rage that was inside him unleashed upon an opponent. The adrenline rush that hooked him in. Chaining one strike of his blade to the next. The glory of death and destruction.

And yet. Despite the drums of war beating away in this country like the hammer of a blacksmith upon his anvil. There was no battlefield for this wolf to sink his fangs into. Nothing. At least. Not yet. This country was yet new to his mercenary company. Which meant starting small and working their way up. Likely it would be a few weeks before he felt the glory of true battle. Till then he'd need to make do with singular jobs and bodyguard work. At least until the new recuits were trained. Then there coud be bigger and more power filled work.

Till now. He'd make do with what there was. As usual. More stares from villagers. However this time the most attention came from their children. Who gathered around him. Their eyes and faces filled with awe as they ran around the legs of the largest man they had ever seen. The harsh langauge of this country was annoying. However he could not help but admit he had a soft spot for women and children. They spoke of how strong he must be. He pondered lifting one of the children to impress them. However the sight of a foriegner doing so would likely alarm the village folk. And he didn't really want to do that.

" Damned wagon!"

A curse from the left as a peasant farmer was trying and failing to fit a new wheel onto his wagon. Seeing a way to hit two birds with one stone. Fenrir walked over. Cupped a hand below the mans wagon and lifted. His immense strength was easily enough to lift the wagon. The man looked at him. Mouth agape. As the children sung praises of his strength. A slight smile crept up his mouth like a grape vine. He gestured to the man to put the wheel on. And he did. Slowly then Fenrir lowered the wagon. Looked at his hand and then back to the man. There was thanks, and words about not everyone being so kind. A suprise to see that a foriegner would take time to help him in such a way. The farmer, grateful. Offered to buy Fenrir a drink. Knowing that people of this country were very all about manners he agreed. The drinking hole of this village wasn't the most fancy place he had been to in this country. However the wooden walls and thatched roof much reminded him of the taverns back in his home land. They both sat down and enjoyed a local beverage. From what he had managed to gather the majority of alcohol produced in this area was made through the ferentation of one of the countries most popular crops. The rice itself.

But he'd heard stranger things. For one people only sightly further to the north west used potato crops to make their alcoholic beverages. And from what he heard they were quite strong. After a few drinks the farmer was quite heavily under. Fenrir however was barely even phased. The rice alcohol wasn't very strong. At least not in comparison to some of the imports that the romans had in their wine houses and taverns. The day was quickly turning to night and Fenrir thought it only fair that he help the farmer home. Slinging the drunken man onto his own wagon. And then asking for directions to the mans house from the tavern owner. He began to move outwards to the mans house. Apparantly he was one of three farmers who had been hit quite hard by new taxes enforced by the Han. He wondered if they supported the yellow turbans. He didn't get on the wagon itself. As he didn't really like riding upon beasts. But led the horse by hand and strap.

The mans house was next to a larger stable and barn. Fenrir stopped outside. Walked over to the house and knocked on the door. It was opened by a middle aged woman, perhaps only two or three years younger than the wolf himself. Seeing the wedding band on her finger he explained what had happened to her husband. She rolled her eyes. And thanked him for bringing the man home safely. Heading back Fenrir grabbed the man, slung him over his shoulder. And then started heading towards the mans house. He bent down and walked inside. His head nearly touching the roof. He was guided into the bedroom by a wide eyed little girl. She pointed at the bed. And the wolf placed the farmer down there. Fenrir raised a hand and ruffled the hair of the little girl before heading back into the main room and out again were he found the farmers wife struggling with the horse trying to get it back the wagon into the barn.

With a few steps forward. Fenrir calmly placed a hand over hers. And then slid hers off the leash of the horse. He pushed her back slightly and led the horse back in. It was all a case of dominance with animals. Fenrir seemed to have a nature sense of rapour with both humans and animals. He assumed it was his size and natural strength that sent fear into them. Making them wish to do his bidding. But there was also that sense of awe.

After putting the wagon back in the barn he unbuckled the horse and led it back into the stable. With a mere small grin to the farmers wife, he petted the horse. And was invited back within to have dinenr with them. Usually he would have refused such an offer. But tonight his stomach said otherwise. They all sat, she served a rice and soup dish. It was a good hearty meal. Fenrir taking advantage of the generous amount of bread that this family seemed to have. During dinner it was explained to him that this village had been suffering greatly from the taxes imposed by the Han. And the farmers particularly had been recieving threats of additional money to be taken. Along with a portion of their harvest. They supported the Han, and so gave of it. But lately it was becoming harder and harder to meet their demands for food.

Fenrir knew fine well that it was difficult to mantain and army. And feeding them was a peasants job. Whether it was bought or seized. And it looked like the latter was the case here.

But this also brought up another thought. Another thought that came all too late. At least for these poor people. Screams in the village. The smell of smoke was to hit Fenrir first. He jumped up from his seat, very nearly hitting his head off the roof of the house. He looked around. And then headed to the door. Men rushing into the village wearing yellow. Fires being started all around. People who emerged from their homes being slain. Just as he had began to think. If this village was supplying food for the Han then this made it a very likely target for the Yellow Turbans. Cut off the supplies of food and moral will drop within the armies. More will begin to desert as starvation and death tolls rise. More and more rushed into the village wearing yellow. Bellowing out their war cries baring torches and setting fire to everything they could.

This village was begining to glow an amber colour in the pitch black of the night.

The whistle of arrows. And the thunk as they hit the thatched roof. Flaming arrows had set light to the house. The family began to head for the door. But Fenrir but up his arm to block their movement. He headed away from the door as turbans began to move this way. They were burning down the houses. And killing the people as they fled through their doors. Fenrir could easily kill the turbans. But there was the family. And the unconcious man in the room to consider. There was panic among them. And he explained about what would happen if they gave into the panic. He asked the wife what the thinest wall closest to the barn was. She replied that it was the place were they stored their food. A cool room. This was good. It'd give him time to get the man. And them time to collect food and other supplies. He told them what to do.

Heading into the bedroom. He picked up the drunken man and walked through into the cool room. The flames were spreading quickly. Smoke thick in the air. There was a pot of water in the corner. He touched the wall that was the closest to the barn. Warm. The fire was in there as well. But it would be the only safe exit route. Any other way and the family would be risking arrow fire from the Yellow turbans. He told them to grab cloths. and soak them in the water pot. To place these cloths over their heads. To keep themselves low. Taking the remainder of the pot after they'd done. Fenrir poured it over himself. The smoke was begining to get thick in here...he'd have to work quickly.

He drew Ragnarok. And then slashed forward. The weight of the sword cracking the wall with ease. A few more strikes and the hole was easy enough to slip through. There was fire on the other side. More than there was in here. But he pushed them to go into the inferno.

They'd have to travel through hell to get to heaven.

Smoke filling his nostrils. His head low. Skin dry now, moisture long since scorched off. Screams behind him as the building began to collapse around them. Just how did he find himself in this situation? A hand moving back. Telling the group to stp as he listened. As he smelled the air in front. There was a blow of northern wind. " Get down!". He yelled. Before an inferno rushed through. Diving forwards. Wood falling. Collapsing on top. As the flames burned through everything that had been...

A back draft.

Deadly, but his warning had been enough. They'd managed to avoid it with little more than a mild burn. But the main doors of the barn were impossible to reach. And the flames were getting too hot for comfort. Dragging the unconcious farm man into the corner of the barn along with the family. He looked at the wall. Shrugged. And then put his foot through it. Continuing to kick away at the wood. Creating enough of a hole so that the wife, and her two children could get out. He tossed the drunken farmer out with them. Who was by now begining to wake up and realise just what he'd slept through.

He pointed to the western plains. Told them to run. That he'd follow soon. There were stills screams in this village. And although there was no profit in it for him. Fenrir could not run from this at least. Not yet. For one it was the first time he had gotten to fight with such odds. In a battle he could well die. And for another. He had honour. He would not let children and families die when he could still save them. He unbuckled his helm. And placed it over his head. He bent down, picked up some of the dirt and dust. Rubbed it into his hands for grip. And then drew Ragnarok. He headed back into the village now burning like a torch in the night. Sword in hand.

He would save as many lives this night as he could.

The wolf began to prowl.

[Lu Xiang]

In they spouted, such a confused an desolate city. In the dead of the night - thousands maybe hundreds. Who could tell? The complete distraction of alcohol and the pitch dark left the city practically defenseless against such vagabonds. The mighty yellow scarves tightened around their heads, armoured with weapons of little use but hearts of distress. Prepared to fight to prove their cause was the worthy.

A knife into the back of the Han, fucking them silently. As quickly as the people collapsed - so would the Han. Zhang Jiao knew this, initiating several simultaneous attacks upon strong Han cities. They attacked from all sides of the city, covered in flames like demons. Torching buildings, spawning rubble from the monuments and leaving a mausoleum of bodies scattered behind them.

They lacked a leader, which could be of an advantage or a disadvantage. With no control - they did what they liked. Raped, murdered, pillaged. However, they had no leadership. Nobody to tell them what to do or advise retreat or attack. It was completely down to personal opinions of themselves or small groups.

A hot thick smoke, covered the city floor. The heavy smashing of valuables and the scattering of furniture. Horses were slaughter, humans more so. They weren't prepared for this, and therefore suffered, heavily.

"Kill them all, Victory for the Way of Peace!"