middaeg | Upon the conduct of each depends the fate of all. [Open catch-all, some closed prompts]

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Upon the conduct of each depends the fate of all. [Open catch-all, some closed prompts]

Who: Iskandar and whoever he drags into his nonsense
When: Ieneuer
Where: Aefenglom, Dorchacht Wilde, Aefenglom Wilde, Wilde in general
What: One King of Conquerors is physically unable to sit still
Warnings: Violence, language, alcohol, outrageous acts of (heroic) stupidity. Will add as need arises.

As the new year begins one King of Conquerors dangerously grows restless... so he's going a-questing.

Prompts will appear in the comments below. PM or poke on plurk

bitweaver.

More may appear later.

Iskandar has a top level on Return to Dorchacht Event as well.

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[ Legends and stories can overwrite facts when it comes to Servants. It's a really interesting tidbit, to learn that the grandiose King of Conquerors was most likely a lot shorter and a lot smaller. But surely a man who conquered half of the known world must have been of an impressive statue, a true giant! ]

Word of great deeds always spreads fast. You worked so hard for your legend, that people imagining you taller made it a reality. [ Teasing is all fine and dandy, but also— time and place for giving credit where its due. And it's all a nice banter, but suddenly a faint echo of ungodly screech can be heard from far away. Cú raises his hand and freezes. ]

Did you hear that? [ But a whisper ]

[Iskandar nods slowly. That blood-curdling screech is like nothing he has ever heard before.]

Someone is in a foul mood.

[He may joke but he dares not to raise his own voice above whisper. And clings to hope they still have a chance to come back to the city with survivors of that doomed expedition and not their corpses.]

[ Cú throws his arm out, writing with the tip of his spear above their heads, drawing the area of the spell he chants. Motes of light mark the shape but disappear too quickly to form it fully. When he's done— when he's done their skin, and the surface of every their belonging changes colour as if they were painted with the same brush that was used to paint Wilde environment.

A simple chameleon spell that might give them an additional sneaking advantage ]

And that someone— [ Something ] —has no idea we're coming.

[ The scream came from far too away, it didn't feel as if it was meant to intimidate them. Close enough to pinpoint the location and follow it though and Caster doesn't waste time and starts to move. The sooner they get to these people the better ]

Hey, that's neat. [Iskandar whistles as he watches them both blend into the background as if they weren't even there.] You need to teach me how you do this.

[They move and move quickly. For a man of his size surely Iskandar makes surprisingly little noise. But then if noise can get you killed because the enemy discovered your ambush, well, you learn very fast not to make any. Size is not that much of a factor, skill is.]

[ An equivalent exchange that would be! Learning from each other it is. But all Caster can offer for now is a nod as he runs forward, steps light and careful for— another ungodly screech follows, and this time they can make other sounds.

Voices. ]

By the Moons it got me— it got me—!

Climb faster! FASTER! Don't look back!

[ Closer, yet closer... Magic thrums in the air as Cú lets the tattoos on his skin activate. Spells firing one by one, emitting faint glow. ]

I'll take its attention on me! [ That's hardly a fully formed plan but he hopes Iskandar understands. He'll take the first attack and first retaliation, effectively making himself a bait and distracting whatever there is from people trying to escape them. Giving Iskandar a chance for second, more deliberate strike. Running low, swift, way faster than a human body should he rushes into a small clearing where—

Three people on a large tree, one of them with bleeding calf, halfway climbing, halfway being dragged down by— on all the names of gods that have been forgotten, what is this thing? It looks as it was described, but at the same time, the words couldn't truly give a full picture of its bestial form.

Doesn't matter, Cú zips in a low dash, once lush-now dry foliage miring him down enough that he's not so obnoxiously quick. Still quick enough to provide a nasty surprise as he uses the full length of his new spear to bridge the distance between himself and the monster. Broad swipe and forward momentum of his charge directed at its unprotected shins.

The monster though reacts more readily than he expected it to— turning around and locking their gazes for a split of second.

'How thrilling, it's been a while since we fought demons' is what he thinks before the hit connects. And just another hellish screams resonates in the forest. ]

Iskandar has seen a lot during his conquest but nothing could prepare him for what he saw.

Broad-breasted and higher than a proper war mount the beast emits an inhuman scream that could easily curdle blood in veins of even of the most seasoned warriors. It glistens red with blood that Iskandar is not sure is its own or of the unfortunate Wilders it was trying to get.

While he was willing to attribute the tales of the survivors to exaggeration driven by fear, he doesn't think so anymore. The beast is as monstrous as they described.

His sword has not even a fraction of reach that Cú Chulainn's spear has so Iskandar goes straight for the human part. He's not as fast as Cú but the beast should not expect him, its attention on the Celt now. Yet the unthinkable happens. The beast seemingly sees and hears all. As if somehow sense a sword slashing through the air coming for its heart.
It backs with all four legs emitting another screech. In the direction of King of Conquerors this time.

Iskandar cannot tell if it's the intensity of stench of rotting flesh or is the creature's breath truly toxic but causes him to fight not the creature but a suffocating fit of cough. He has to fall back no matter if he wants to or not. It gets difficult to attack if you are unable to breathe.

Their breath could wither crops, cause a drought— Looks like the tales of a different world still resonate here. Maybe it's just some magical interference, a suggestion instead of real danger and real toxins— nevertheless Cú's first instinct is to tap into elements.

Air is the one he's the least familiar with, ironically. Fire has always burned in him, Earth grounding and full of life, Water has been the tricky one but with steady approach slowly they befriended each other, but Air?

There is no tattoo relating to it, and he has to pause to chant a spell, calling on the old tongue Erin, familiar to speech here yet different. Hand gestures are probably less necessary, but help with direction, and direction is a strong gust of wind blowing in the opposite direction to Iskandar, taking away the fumes from them.

Here is why he favours the tattoos so much, though. Casting spells leaves the Witch open. Just enough for the monster to close the distance between them, and send him into the (sic) air, with a strong swipe. Hit barely blocked with the spear, it spared him the claws, but he still hit the nearest trunk with a loud gasp.

The beast, however, stops suddenly as the Wilders above them start yelling and throwing twigs and branches at it. It's distracted, too many targets at once. A perfect opportunity to strike, yet again.

As he shakes head to lose the haze, Iskandar for the first time fully realizes why Caster went into the tattoos. It's painfully obvious once one has the first-hand experience. Stupid magic is fucking damn near useless during combat! Good thing then magic is not everything he has.

With the monster's attention elsewhere he uses this opening to strike; one thrust aimed to creature's heart while it's turned away. The sword sinks in the flesh with a wet squelch but the creature's reflexes prove inhuman yet again. It turns back, Iskandar can feel the steel dragging on the bones, just enough for the blade to miss its heart. Not enough though to miss completely.

"I see you like Cypriot steel. There's more where it came from!"

There's no scream this time just an ugly gargle and a wheeze that confirms that what Iskandar did hit was probably a lung. If this thing even has those. He pulls the sword and strikes again. Aiming for the throat with a sweeping motion. The beast stumbles to the side still confused but it blocks, catching the blade with its talons, trying to rip the sword from his hand.

"You don't go into a contest of strength with me!"

Cú, if you don't mind, that would be a good moment.

The birds on nearby trees take flight now, frightened by the sounds of battle or by the stench that the wind carried away from them.

This is the moment, the perfect one, one of the many he witnessed. The creature's focus is elsewhere, fighting an intense fight against the great warrior of old. Wounded and cut down. A perfect moment, one of the many he took advantage of. His stance switches, grip on the spear flips, only touch needed to activate the enchantments carved along the way. The old stories said when piercing, Gae Bolg's blade expands into barbs and thorns, that courses body through veins. The reality was less literal, but that didn't mean the stories were entirely wrong— This spear has no name, nor tales of its secret capabilities. It won't "always" pierce the heart.

But this time it does, the purification enchantment firing off as well— it's mostly used against the Cwyld infected, which this creature is not— but the purification is not unlike fire and even if the creature was to survive the stab, extensive internal burn damage should slow it down.

Survive it does not. It writhes, lets out one last gurgling sound, and grows a weight upon the blade. Cú removes the spear with one long movement, letting the monster fall on the ground.

"Ha— it wasn't as tough as it looked." He starts ever in a conversational tone, now that the fight is over and he can check the damage they sustained. It's easy to miss wounds and scratches when in the heat of the battle, and the adrenaline will take a moment to die down entirely "Pretty sharp with that blade, friend. Cypriot steel you say?"

Surprised shouts from above tell them that survivors didn't really expect them to come out of it in one piece.

The beast would stand a chance against one of them but not both. Once the initial shock of its unusual appearance fades it is like any other living creature. It bleeds, it breathes, it can be killed. Its death is swift. It takes only one blow from CúChulainn's spear to end it. Iskandar can't see from the distance but he wouldn't hesitate much to bet that the weapon has enchantments of its own.

Iskandar laughs. "Give us some credit, it had some fight in it. Good thing we had more of it in us!" That he has not even a scratch on him borders on a miracle. At least not any obvious one. It is a boon and a curse that he can push past almost any injury. Still, this time it looks he got lucky. Iskandar crouches near the slain creature to have a closer look. It remains equally monstrous, now that is dead. He gathers a fistful of grass to wipe his blade from the beast's ichor. He'd do it properly once they're back at the camp but this should suffice for the moment.

"It is. A gift from my dear friend, king of Cyprus. It has seen many a battle and not once has it failed me. They make fine blades, the Cypriots." He replies with a smile.

Though a thought crosses his mind. They made fine blades. He doesn't even know what happened to the island nation in later years. The sword has passed to legend, his legend, but it's no Noble Phantasm so by some odd whim of chance made its way to this strange world with him. And his horse.

"Let's get them back to the city."

They were victorious now but gods only know what other dangers lurk in those impassable woods.

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