Creeping Though the Encampment

Krvavy takes a deep breath. The scent of smoke lingers at the back of her throat as she exhales. Slowly, she takes a step forward. Towards the sounds up ahead.

Just beyond the emptied wagon that she is hiding behind stand a handful of barrels, their tops and bottoms bound with coiled branches. But the barbarian hardly pays any attention to those, her emerald eyes narrowing into slits as she stares past them, glaring down at an annoyingly large expanse of thoroughly trampled ground.

Long shadows stretch across that empty space. The flickering outlines of more than a dozen men. Each standing straight as an arrow. Each with a spear resting over a shoulder. Each moving in... relative... unison, meticulously marching twenty or so paces to one side before turning and marching back again, and again, and again.

The barbarian bites the inside of her cheek, resisting the urge to drum her fingers against the wooden wagon by her side. There... is really no way that she’ll be able to sneak past those soldiers.

A tinge of frustration wells up within Krvavy. It doesn’t feel good to turn away from this encampment after hardly having even stepped into it. But it makes sense to do so. The Duke’s army isn’t evenly spread around Svaneti, she knows as much from Rina’s intel, so there are bound to be spots where their encircle...ment is a bit sparser and thinner. Where it will be easier for her to make it past this obstacle. Krvavy just needs to find one of those spots.

Her inhuman feet press into the ashen ground as lightly as they ever possibly could, considering the weight of her rather formidable figure and all. Carefully and cautiously she creeps away from the empty cart that hardly had the chance to serve as her cover.

The darkness of this dreadful night engulfs the Drakling once more, helping her hide as she heads west, sticking close to the edge of this encampment. Her gaze sweeps over countless carts and wagons, heaping piles of packaged supplies, and an untold amount of triangular tents, looking for a path to take.

Her pointed and not quite Elf-like ear twitches.

Krvavy grits her teeth and quickly crouches close to the ground, squatting so low that she may as well be sitting. There are a few more soldiers moving around just past the line of tents that she has found herself hiding behind. But more than that...

The vast and empty space beyond this encircled siege... isn’t quite as empty as Krvavy would like.

A cluster of harsh lantern lights shine through that lifeless expanse, piercing the gently falling flakes of ash and growing ever brighter. Another patrol is approaching, and from the direction she is heading no less, the dry grasses audibly crunching beneath their boots.

Carnivorous teeth sink into a pale lip. Emerald eyes flick back and forth between the bright glow drawing ever closer from the darkness and the silhouettes approaching from the light... only to settle on the draped canvas right beside her.

Left with no other option, Krvavy lifts the flap of the nearest tent and slips inside. A soft sigh of relief escapes past her lips as she finds it unoccupied, empty of all but a bedroll and a small bag filled with the few belongings of whatever soldier sleeps here. But despite that... it is incredibly cramped. There is barely enough room for Krvavy’s tail to fit inside, and her horns are scraping into the fabric above...

“Ackhh...!” A choked cough pierces through the muffled noises of this encampment. Not too clear, but... close. “These – ahkh..! – damned ashes...!”

“Hey now, it isn’t that bad.” Barely restrained laughter underlines those mirthful and friendly words. That voice sounds younger, or at least less rough, than the first.

“For you, maybe...! But – hhck...! – just wait until your ribs are cracked and – hkhh...! – your lungs are crushed...! Hhhkh...!”

“Come now, don’t be so dramatic. The healers did their job well enough. You’re on your feet and not still laying in the infirmary, aren’t you?” The coughing soldier grumbles wordlessly at his comrade’s slightly more serious comment. “Besides, this will all be over before the morning comes. So just rest. You’ll be better by sunrise. As will the air.”

A pair of shadows are cast onto the tent that the barbarian can barely fit inside... stopping directly in front of it.

Krvavy’s hand raises slightly, ready to summon her Soulbound weapon at a moments notice.

“Even if the fires are – khh...! – out by then... the ash will remain...” That grumpy, coughing soldier mutters out those bitter words as he takes another staggered step, leaning towards the tent directly beside the one that Krvavy is hiding within. “Ackhh...! Are you...?”

“Nah, I’m still on duty. Rearguard patrol. Maybe not as exciting as being on the frontlines, but hey, at least I won’t end up in as sorry a state as you.”

“Go – khhn – fuck yourself...”

“Hah!” The shadow of that single standing soldier laughs and shakes his head. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you’re still breathing when I come back. Goodnight, brother.”

“Hhnk... Goodnight...”

The light cast onto this tent dims as that guard turns and walks back the way he came, the soft thmp thmp of his footsteps fading into the busy ambience of this encampment. A short bout of choked coughing accompanies the rustling of fabric. But those sounds soon quiet down as well.

Only then, after countless agonizing seconds followed by nearly a whole minute of relative silence, does the Drakling let out her breath. She can only hope that the soldier lying less than an arms reach away didn’t hear her gentle gasp. Or that he at least doesn’t think twice about it...

It takes a while longer for Krvavy’s heart to calm, for its drumming beat to no longer be so deafeningly loud.

A single metal claw pokes through the tent flap, which just barely gets pulled aside by the barbarian’s gauntleted hand. Cautious eyes peek through that tiny sliver of a gap. Her gaze rakes across the pathway of packed dirt dusted with ash, looking over the next line of tents that stand just a short distance ahead. None are open, as far as she can tell.

That little crack in her cover grows just a bit bigger. Carefully, Krvavy glances to the left and then the right. There is not a soul in sight.

Slowly, the barbarian crawls back into the outside world. Fully into this encampment. She dares to lift her head, looking above these annoyingly short tents. There are a few more soldiers moving around, but none are all that close to her. Still... she would almost certainly be spotted if she were to stand up. If not by the men in this camp, then by those patrols passing around it. Her tall, horned silhouette would be rather hard to miss, to put it lightly.

And so, with a grimace on her face, Krvavy is left with **** but to remain crouched low to the ground, creeping along this beaten path as she heads in the direction the sun had set in. Each tent she sneaks by, and the potential occupants within, earns itself a resentful glare.

The thought of reaching through those flaps and smothering the life of those sleeping soldiers does pass her mind. She isn’t a stranger to such an act. The bandits who captured Thea, way back before barbarian and brat met, suffered that fate. It is just... Murdering these men in their sleep simply isn’t worth it.

Yes, she could use the experience that would get her, as little as it may be. But each tent she checks raises the risk of her getting spotted. Either by the men she would ****, or by others passing by. Though even if that wasn’t an issue... checking each and every tent would still take time. Time that she doesn’t exactly have. Time that Svaneti definitely doesn’t have.

The barbarian bites the inside of her cheek.

Her pace is painfully slow, each crouched ‘step’ too small.

It takes ages for Krvavy to reach the end of this, admittedly short, line of tents. It takes longer still to for her to pass the next few rows, having to stop and wait for the few men walking along those paths to turn away or slip into a tent of their own. She only has to double back once, ducking out of sight to let a soldier pass on by.

It is a relief when she finally puts those orderly rows behind her.

Distant firelight dances across the Drakling’s skin, scales, and armour. Tall shadows stretch across her stooping, squatted form as she passes by rack upon rack laden with spare spears, the flickering light bleeding between those sturdy wooden shafts.

A few paranoid thoughts flit through her head. If she were to knock even one of those spear laden stands down with, say, her thick and meaty tail...

“Ngh...!”

The curve of Krvavy’s upper horns rather roughly bump into a thick and nicely quilted fabric. A gambeson. Her emerald eyes dart up, staring into a greyish blue pair that mirror her shock. A single heartbeat stretches into an eternity, snapping back into a second as that breathless grunt begins to shift into what will no doubt soon be a shout.

Before the barbarian even realizes it, her fingers have wrapped themselves around the haft of the nearest spear, tearing it off the rack and... driving its sharpened head into that soldier’s throat.

384.12 Damage dealt to [Surprised Soldier]

“Hhhgk!” The man who had the misfortune of stepping into this barbarian’s path chokes and struggles to even cough, clutching at that weapon with shaking hands only to find that it won’t budge even a bit. He can’t get it out of his neck. And neither can he get himself off of it. The spearhead lifts up, its broad edge cutting into his chin and forcing him onto the tips of his toes. “Ghhhhkhknhk...!”

A torrent of blood gushes from that deep gash, the weight of this soldier and his padded armour only serving to widen that wound, his flesh ripping and muscles tearing.

But not a drop of that liquid life reaches the ground. It is all absorbed and converted to mana.

A deluge of damage notifications ping at the edges of Krvavy’s perception. She ignores them all, her free hand grabbing at this soldier’s shoulder as her eyes sweep across her surroundings. There.

“Gnhhhhkhnnnh...” Those wet, gurgling sounds grow softer and fainter as the Drakling drags this dying man through the ashen dirt towards a large tent, its flaps left wide open. “hhhhnkhh...” The muscles in his arms tense and his legs twitch one last time before he goes still for good.

[Surprised Soldier] has been slain!
+412.5 Experience

That desiccated corpse lightly thumps down onto the dry grass. The firelight from outside is quickly dimmed into nothing but the faintest of glows as two bits of twine are swiftly cut by a spearhead which bears no evidence of the crime it was just used to commit. The privacy that darkness brings fills this tent as its thick fabric flaps fall back into place.

“Hahhhh...” Krvavy slowly sighs, her heat hammering away in her ears.

If someone were to stumble on this body... That would definitely be cause enough for the alarm to be raised. But she can’t guarantee that no one will find it. Not without wasting a whole lot mana... burying it, or something.

Though... maybe it wouldn’t be too bad if this corpse was found...? As long as Krvavy isn’t anywhere nearby when that happens, of course. The discovery of this **** may lure some soldiers in, leaving the areas she’ll need to pass empty. Or... It could be a hit to their morale. One of their friends found dead, throat torn open and body drained of all its blood. Blood that isn’t staining the ground. Blood that is missing. As if some beast had drank it all down...

Krvavy’s inhuman eyes pierce through the dim shadows that fill this tent. There doesn’t seem to be anything in here that would help her hide a body. Just coils upon coils of rope. All stored under this ‘roof’ to keep dry from any potent rain. Or to keep the ashes off of them.

A morbid idea coalesces within her mind. With hardly any hesitation, she moves to bring it into reality.

The Drakling’s fingers grasp at the nearest length of rope, unwrapping it enough to toss one end through the ‘Y’ shaped support holding up the center of this tent. That twisted length is securely tied around the legs of that corpse, binding its ankles together, before getting pulled back the way it came. The support beam wobbles but holds as that body is hefted up into the air.

Krvavy grimaces, dragging another heavy coil over and onto that rope, pinning it down and anchoring that dangling corpse. She is not proud of this. But... It will definitely scare, or at the very least unsettle, whoever stumbles upon this scene. Hopefully whichever soldier does find it is quite the superstitious one. She’d rather they panic over a vampire, or something similar, possibly being in their midst rather than just assume this was the work of some sick serial killer...

Her emerald eyes drop down to where the spear was carelessly discarded on the ground.

It might be a good idea to return that weapon to its rack. That way no one will notice it missing. But... Krvavy would rather continue through this encampment, not waste time doubling back more than she has already. Plus, whoever finds this corpse may assume that spear was used by this soldier in a **** attempt to fight for his life... Which may cause even more fear when they realize how utterly unused it looks, with not even a speck of blood on its blade...

The canvas flaps of that tent rustle as Krvavy carefully passes back through them. No one else is out here, at least not directly in her line of sight, though that isn’t enough to ease her nerves. She needs to keep moving.

Lines of dark and light flicker across the ashen ground, long shadows cast by those standing spears.

This area is a bit too open and lit up for Krvavy’s liking. The cover available to her is too spotty, with too many gaps in and between them. That a soldier stepped through one of those gaps, directly into her path, proves as much. There isn’t much she can do about that though. Nothing beyond being more alert and attentive...

The weapon racks soon disappear out of the Drakling’s sight, hidden away behind tents big and small. Though, of course, none of those tents are tall enough for Krvavy to stand behind. She still has to crouch so low that she may as well be crawling...

Krvavy pauses, and perks up a moment later. Further ahead stands some better cover than what she has had to deal with so far: a large cluster of carts with crates still stacked high atop them, and plenty already unloaded around them.

But the tiny bit of relief that she feels over finally finding something that she won’t have to duck behind is very short lived. A little past those carts, between the barbarian and the burning inferno that is Svaneti, are a few dozen horses tied to posts in a makeshift stable. And there are also a handful of men meandering around those anxious beasts. Of course.

Why, just why, won’t the world let her head in a straight fucking line...?

Biting back a groan, Krvavy once more steps to the side, quickly crossing an empty ‘road’ and ducking between those scattered stacks of supplies. At least she doesn’t need to worry about these crates opening up and soldiers spilling out of them...

Large fluffy flakes drift down from the dark sky above, indiscriminately landing atop boxes, barrels, tarps, and Krvavy’s crimson hair, coating all they touch in a layer of dull and lifeless grey. If only all of this was snow instead of ash, it would almost look beautiful...

That thought sends a shiver down her spine.

Images of a black blizzard, of dark snow that snuffs out the life of all it touches, emerge from the recesses of her mind. The sound of her heartbeat grows dim and distant, louder and ever-present. Those images... colour seeping away... hopes and dreams smothered before they can take root... leaving nothing behind but sorrow and the painful emptiness of loss...

Krvavy grits her teeth and shakes her head, discarding those errant, distracted thoughts. The dull grey blanketing this land is bad enough. She doesn’t need her imagination making it worse.

The barbarian’s attention turns back to the boxes and barrels that surround her. Narrow passageways meander through these piles, twisting and turning and weaving around. Each corner she takes, each intersection she reaches, brings the danger of being spotted. She has to constantly check if anyone else is ahead, to the side, behind, or just generally nearby.

It is... aggravating.

It wouldn’t be quite as bad if she didn’t have to crouch down so low.

Her armoured knuckles press into the sooty ground, into that thin and accumulating layer of ash, as she pauses at a corner. No one is down that path. So she takes it.

By instinct alone, her thick and meaty tail slowly swishes behind her, brushing away the prints left by her inhuman feet. A close look would still betray that someone had been there, the ashes swept unnaturally, but in the darkness of this night and the dim light permeating this encircling encampment... No one should notice a thing.

Not stopping her slow, sneaking steps... Krvavy cautiously cranes her neck and straightens her spine. The smokey sky far ahead, and a little to her right, is glowing with the fires of war. Good... in the sense that she hasn’t gotten turned around in this maze, at least. Svaneti is still forwards. She’ll get there, soon enough...

“Sir!” The young and eager voice of a boy who can hardly be called a man pierces through the many other noises permeating the stifling air. “I will get some more for you, right away!”

Krvavy’s heart freezes. With darting eyes she glances around, looking for anywhere to go. Behind her is the long, straight path that she has been creeping through for the past minute or so. It is devoid of cover. To her left stands an impenetrable wall of stacked crates. To her right rest a few empty ones. But they aren’t big enough for her to hide inside. She would fit under the nearest wagon. But there are a few boxes blocking off its underside, and she doesn’t have time to move them out of the way. Not with how rapidly those footfalls are approaching her position...

A shadow stretches through an intersection just a short distance ahead, the only path that Krvavy can take.

Her Soulbound weapon nearly manifests in her hand, kept from appearing into reality by... the soft whinnying of a horse. Her brow shoots up as an idea forms in her head.

Fresh air, free of the otherwise omnipresent smoke, swiftly swirls around the Drakling. Mana bleeds through her pale skin and black scales, sending her breeze against the heat wafting in from the north in waves that match each breath she takes.

“Huh?” The sound of stomping hooves and worried neighing quickly drowns out all those other more distant noises. “Is everything all right over there, Sir?!”

With wind in her step, the barbarian dashes behind the back of that young man who only just turned away. Her tail nearly touches his lightly padded armour as soot swirls off the ground beneath her feet. She swiftly turns a corner, and then another still.

“Yes, recruit.” A slightly strained voice calls back, growing quieter and more distant by the second. “The smoke must be getting to the horses...”

The Drakling quickly ducks down behind a wagon and glances back over her shoulder. That young soldier isn’t anywhere in sight. A sigh of relief hisses past her clenched teeth. Quickly, her attention turns back to the smoke choked sky.

Svaneti is far to her right now. Almost behind her.

“Tsk...” Krvavy can’t help but click her tongue, a wave of annoyance washing over her. This encampment isn’t particularly busy, but there are still enough soldiers loitering about to make passing through here an absolute pain...

The barbarian shakes her head and begins to creep around the edge of this cluster of crates, her mildly grumpy gaze sweeping across her surroundings in search for a path that she can take. And a path she soon spots. Sort of.

Further ahead, past a handful of empty wagons, stand quite a few more tents. Taller ones. Which are also really rather wide and rectangular. They’ll serve as some decent cover.

The issue is that those tents are... a fair distance away.

Krvavy looks to the left, and then to the right. Nowhere else is here. Quickly and quietly, the Drakling skulks her way through the worryingly empty space between the crates and those taller tents. Anxious thoughts prickle at the back of her brain as she hurries from one to another, her faint silhouette no doubt visible, if just barely, against the gentle glow emanating from the other side of those thick and stretched fabrics.

“Nhhgh...!”

The Drakling freezes.

“Nghhhnn... Hhhnnghh...”

Pained groans leak out from the tent by her side. Those uncomfortable sounds overlap slightly, coming from multiple sources.

“Shhh... You’ll walk again... don’t worry...” A gentle voice, that of a woman who hasn’t let time nor stress nor the sights she has seen wear her down too much, whispers through that canvas. “Everything will be alright...”

The barbarian takes a long, deep breath. Underneath the ever-present smoke is the faint scent of spilled blood. She has found the infirmary. A grimaced frown fills her face.

“Nnnghhk...” Each miserable sound that the unseen patients make stabs into Krvavy’s nerves, leaving her antsy and on edge. She doesn’t feel that way from some sort of misplaced sympathy – these soldiers no doubt deserve their injuries, for serving that damned Duke – but out of caution and fear of her cover being blown. If someone in there were to, say, scream out in pain...

She doesn’t want any eyes to turn her way.

Bit by bit, the barbarian makes her way along the outskirts of these medical tents, moving from the second to the third before quickly crossing another empty expanse, away from those grunts and groans. Her anxiety is tempered slightly as she slips into even better cover, thick stacks of canvas to her left and a pile of crates to her right. Further forward stand some more woodbound barrels. Smaller ones, which would each be easy to carry under an arm. And past those...

A fiery orange light suddenly rises above the horizon, from further to the west, arcing through the smoky air above with the faintest whoosh of flames. It isn’t the brightest, burning like a hot coal as it disappears into the swirling clouds of ash and soot, but that ominous glow is just enough to illuminate the land ahead. If only for the briefest of moments.

Past some more piled supplies, behind a couple last tents, is a line of freshly dug dirt. A short earthenwork wall topped with thick wooden stakes, all of which point outwards across an open expanse towards... Svaneti.

And not a soul is in sight.

But that could change at any moment.

Before she can think twice, Krvavy is up at her full towering height, sprinting across the empty and unguarded ground. A shout rings through the air... but goes ignored as she effortlessly hops over a crude retaining wall, heading towards the choked inferno that has become of the place her first fiancée used to call home.