The Twisted Adventures of Sir Weimar

Ch.12: Confronting Jorgynn the Callous

Above is the reference for Jorgynn, their current antagonist. 

Oh Copz, we are now in big trouble.

Backs pressed together, the teenage apprentices faced off against two raiders of the dreaded Bleeding Mummers. Armed with only small knives and wooden swords,  the boys eyed the leather and armor-adorned marauders warily, seeing who'd make the first move.

"I'll claim the one that you spare," Puck, the one with the oak-beard, replied to his partner once he drew his wooden warhammer that Weimar was sure had been either plundered from a dead warrior or traded for something like a bow and arrow or tar. Either way, the two were faced with certain death lest they reacted swiftly and efficiently.

"I'll take the one with the Shryke Falcon eyes." Asha glared down at Syras with her crow-like eyes. "I'll let you have the small fry."

"You always get the good ones, but I suppose it's fair enough."

Letting out a war cry that tore through the din of the battle and the voice of combatants and non-combatants alike, the two tribal savages lunged at their quarry. Wishing he had a sword like Talon, Weimar stood with his right foot out, knees bent, preparing to parry his foe. If only he had the shrewdness to acquire a sword or axe from one of the corpses, then the odds of his survival would have risen, if not by 50%, then at least a bit. As the howling marauder bore down on him, the squire braced himself and shifted his wooden weapon between him and the sword that gleamed a mix of red and orange in the twilight.

"Hrrrah!"

Weimar barely managed to block the blow that would have hewn his head off his shoulders, but the enemy's steel weapon bit deep into his wooden one. Pulling it out, Puck guffawed like a Nyubyanian Hyena. 

"Pathetic! A wooden sword is no match for my thick shiny steel needle!"

As he made several jabs at the knight-in-training, Weimar attempted to parry some of the blows as he evaded multiple, but the superior sword shredded the weaker one. Shaking his head and laughing at the boy's plight, the raider approached a disarmed Weimar.

"It seems that this is the end of the rope for you, kid. " Puck bore down on the defeated squire. The light from the setting sun giving him an angelic appearance. "It's a shame for you to go like this. Too bad for you since you had the potential to become an adept swordsman. Now it's time to end this."

Weimar tensed as the butcher of the people of Fjor raised his weapon, but before he could bring it down, something sharp exploded from his throat. Gasping, Puck crumpled to his knees and glanced up on terror as Syras smirked down at him, silhouetted by the coming dusk.  As the ruffian's eyes rolled into the back of his head, he crumpled over, revealing his dead female companion laying behind him like a rag doll, blood pooling from under her throat. The nimble young teen, his Celdean daggers  dripping with vermillion liquid,  turned to smirk at his bewildered companion.

"If only you'd have heeded my warning about looting a weapon from a soldier or Mummy who bit the dust, then you'd have stood a chance."  Syras whirled a bloody dagger in his hand. "On  another note, you had the graceful style of an expert swordsman. Imagine what you could have done with a real sword."

Weimar dusted himself.  "Oi! Thanks for the compliments, but I really think we need to find Sir Globar. After all, he is where the action is."

"Fair enough. I'll race you."

As Syras took off, his blue-gray cloak fluttering in the evening air, Weimar was hot on his heels. Before he forgot, he picked up a broadsword from the corpse of a militiaman. He wouldn't be empty-handed if they encountered anymore bandits of the Bleeding Mummies.