Thread: A Fine Predicament (Retro/Tryste)

He nodded as he heard her asking for asylum...it was as he expected. These individual farms were simply too far out to be well protected. A man alone, or a single family, was nothing but a target. He lifted his hand, placing it atop her head with a small smile seen at the corners of his eyes and nodded. So be it. Your contract shall be to me, then. He turned then toward his men, speaking to the large man carrying the hammer, Van. Go outside and get Aragorn and Squints to do a circular patrol around the area...tell them I don't want any eaters getting inside their perimeter while we finish up here. The big man tapped his helm with the heavy warhammer's head in salute, speaking as he did so, As you wish, Skywalker. By the numbers? By the numbers, nutcracker. Deuce, do a quick sweep of the house itself, just in case one's hiding. After that, head out to check the outbuildings, Michael said. The two men hurried out to do his bidding, leaving the two of them alone for the moment. The nicknames had come from the men's time before they were officially part of Karak Dorn's military, some from movies, some from titles, and some from quite blatantly obvious references to their character. Michael's title came from his uncanny skill with a sword and his legendary luck...Truett has often quipped that he could roll sixes from here till doomsday. Truett's nickname, Deuce, came from his position in command...one step under Michael when they were still an independent fighting force, and second in command of any patrol that Michael led. As far as Van's name? Well, that came about from his choice of weapon, as well as his fighting style. Where other men tried to go around, he simply went through. The two others mentioned, Aragorn and Squints, she hadn't met. Squints got his name from his skill at archery, and the fact that he often squinted down the arrow shaft in order to get the target to clear up at the longest distances. In another world, he might have gotten glasses by now, and even these days he was beginning to miss some of the further shots, but he was still one of the most accurate shots Michael had seen. Aragorn was a woodsman that had been the second person Michael had joined up with after the change, a brooding man who was as silent in his walking as any man alive, and able to track a week-old trail through rocks. Between his natural skill as a ranger in the classical sense and his long brown hair, the name was a natural fit. The perimeter seen to, he turned to her, examining her behind the expressionless face mask that made up part of the armor. His gray eyes considered her for a few moments before he finally lifted his hands to his helmet. A moment's adjustment of the leather strap had his helmet free, and tucked under one arm, giving her the first look she'd have had at him. He had turned twenty seven three days prior, and showed every day, though he did not look prematurely old...that only showed in those twin chips of flint in his eyes. Indeed, if anything, his strong cheekbones and squared jaw would not show age for quite a while. Pitch black hair was cut short to fit beneath his helmet, though it was standing straight up at the moment, reveling in it's freedom. He let out a sigh as he looked around the house, turning his eyes over the scene, deliberately letting his eyes slide out of focus a bit as they slid over the dead men. He'd already gotten as good a look as he planned to. Without looking to her, he spoke, Is there anything you wish to take with you, any valuables? I intend to burn the house when we leave...a bier to your father and an assurance that bandits or eaters won't take refuge in it. At first, they had made cairns for those honorable dead, trusting that the stones would keep away the wolves and coyotes..and they had. But eaters were able to shift the stones and retrieve the meat within. It was safer to burn bodies, now.