Conflict Resolution

The base of Krvavy’s palm presses into roughly hewn rock, knuckles touching that wall of thick grey bricks. Her core pulses with power. Mana flows through the channel in her arm, emerging from the node in her hand.

Stone shifts, yielding to her will. Cracks, new and old, mend as if they had never been made. Chunks that were previously lost grow back without complaint. Soon, there are no wounds left to heal. This section, the last part that she needed to fix, is solid and sturdy once more.

The wooden scaffolding that Krvavy is standing upon creaks beneath her weight.

Keeping her head ducked low, and making sure that her meaty tail doesn’t accidentally swipe out a support beam, Krvavy takes a careful step back. Her fingers wrap tight around a vertical rail, the clawed toes of her inhuman feet hooking atop rung after rung as she descends down a ladder not made for someone of her size.

A wave of relief washes over the Drakling as she returns to the ground on her terms. Falling from that height wouldn’t have been fatal, but neither would it have been pleasant...

The loose fabric of Krvavy’s mostly unbuttoned top is pulled taut as she straightens her spine and stretches her arms high above her head, taking advantage of the fact that she no longer needs to hunch over so heavily. Cool autumn air caresses her snowy skin, brushing over the scar carved into her partially covered chest, that faint line crossing her cleavage. “Hnhh...”

Just a few paces away, lingering at the edge of her vision, is a man whose very existence exudes anxiety, his shoulders pulled in, hands nervously held together, eyes averted...

Krvavy stifles a sigh. “There, the walls are all good and stable.” A frown tugs at the corners of her lips, the faintest hint of exasperation audible in her voice... which is enough to make that man flinch. “You can go and patch up the roof now.” Idly, she glances at the thin layer of clouds scattered across the sky. “Wouldn’t want any rain or snow getting in and ruining all of that flour.”

“Th-thank you...?” The man weakly mutters, more awkward than nervous. But still, he grows a bit more relaxed and less visibly stressed as the tall Drakling steps away.

Another voice calls out, asking that man about the work that still needs to be done, but Krvavy hardly pays those words any mind. Even if she could trust the roof of that storehouse to hold her weight... Krvavy doesn’t know how to lay shingles. So there isn’t much more she can do here.

Emerald eyes meander across the still slightly ashen ground. The wind has scattered most of the soot, but some still remains in the shadows of bushes and in drifts pushed against walls. That the grass has turned an autumn brown does not help with the look of devastation hanging over Svaneti.

But not all is doom and gloom. The people here are hard at work, tending to the wounds of this land. And they’re doing just fine at that, not really needing her help. Krvavy has just sped up some of their jobs, saving people the need to tear down entire walls simply because a small portion of it is now entirely missing, leaving its structural stability in question. For instance.

Her gaze trails further, climbing the steep hill next to that storehouse. A bunch of people are moving around at the very top of it, working to repair what she has been told are windmills.

They don’t really look like what that name brings to mind.

Rather than tall towers with latticed blades spinning in front of them, these ones are... they are completely different. Long sheets of fabric have been stretched into tall concave troughs, those sails attached to a vertical axis and partially shielded by a shell of a wooden tower... which looks like it might also be capable of rotating around, to better help catch the wind? She isn’t too sure about that.

They still have a bit of a turbine feel to them, so the fact that those are windmills isn’t much of a surprise, no matter how weird they may be. But if Krvavy hadn’t been told otherwise...

“H-hail...! Hail...!”

That breathless shout draws the Drakling back to the present. Her head turns to the side, watching as a younger man runs along the winding road in her direction. She steps to the side, half expecting him to sprint past her.

“Haahhh...!” That young man slows to an unsteady stop... and all but doubles over, hands pressed into his knees. Loose locks of dirty blonde hair, damp with sweat, hang across his face as he lifts his head to meet Krvavy’s gaze. “Are you...! The young lady’s...! Sav...saviour...!?”

The barbarian raises her brow, doing her best to not look at that boy like he is an idiot. Regardless of her new title... which does seem to be spreading... much to Thea’s delight, no doubt... Who else could Krvavy be? It isn’t like there is anyone else in this entire region that looks like her. “Yeah,” she lazily answers. “Wha–?”

“We...!” That sharp, gasped breath cuts Krvavy off. The young man grows a little more nervous as he realizes that, but he pushes on regardless. “Need help...!”

Judging by the panic that is peeking through his exhaustion, it is unlikely that this guy wants Krvavy to help him lug around something heavy. Unless one of the half collapsed buildings decided to discard that ‘half’ while someone was inside...?

Krvavy resists the urge to shake her head, pushing aside her idle thoughts without that motion. “Alright.” She states, absentmindedly adjusting the waistband of her too tight pants. It would have been nice to go around in her loincloth, but that doesn’t ‘go with’ her top, according to Thea... “What’s the problem?”

“S-soldiers...!” That single, shakily gasped word fully captures Krvavy’s admittedly distracted attention. “The ones that...! Hhhha...! Didn’t leave...! They’re...! Attacking...!”

“Where?” The Drakling demands to know, brow furrowing as she looks at this utterly exhausted man. There is no way he’d have the energy to lead her anywhere... “What direction are they in?”

The young man glances around, looking from hill to hill before his gaze settles on the odd windmills. Gears turn in his head as he tries to piece together the no doubt scrambled path he took to find Krvavy. “Uhh...” He raises a shaky hand, uncertain finger pointing... “Over... hhh... there...!”

Krvavy’s eyes follow that gesture, looking beyond the nearby cluster of buildings, past pastures and sparsely spaced farmhouses. The gently sweeping hills hide whatever violence is being committed, further from the center of Svaneti, further into the increasingly rural outskirts. North, northwest... judging by the afternoon sun.

“Got it.” Krvavy pats that young man on the shoulder as she steps past him, her long stride quickly taking her off-road. Following these winding paths would just be a waste of time. As would trying to get more information out of that man.

Knowing the number of soldiers she may face, and how many are knights, could be helpful. But not if it takes minutes to hear what should be a single short sentence. Every second counts.

Twigs and dried grasses crunch underfoot as the Drakling’s light jog shifts into more of a sprint. Her meaty tail sways back and forth, her strong legs pump up and down. She leaps over a short stone wall, that barrier hardly reaching above her knee in height. A goat bleats in surprise as she blitzes past it, kept from being truly scared by the enchanted ring sitting snugly on her lower left horn.

Leaves of brown and red fall from spindly branches as Krvavy’s hand thumps into a sturdy trunk, a thin copse of trees standing at the very top of this hill. A valley rests before the barbarian. Peaceful and calm.

Her eyes narrow into thin slits.

Wisps of smoke rise from chimneys and vents in rooftops. But further out, beyond a second and perhaps even third hill, climbs a pillar of thick grey and black.

“Tsk.” Krvavy clicks her tongue, already moving once more.

Wind whistles past the Drakling’s pointed ears, ribbons of blood-red hair billowing behind her head. Air hisses through her loosely bared teeth, lungs expanding and contracting at a steady pace as she dashes down an unusually rocky hillside, steeper and not nearly as rolling as the others around here. An inconvenience that has forced her to slow down just a little. But this direct route is still faster than taking a smoother slope.

Shouts echo from up ahead, their words indistinct as a number of voices overlap. Laughter, cruel and vicious, underlines it all.

A thin haze fills the air, reminiscent of just a few days past. Though not anywhere near as choking. Only a single building is burning, flames rising from a thick thatched roof. A shed... Krvavy would have guessed, had it not been for the shuttered windows flanking its missing door.

Krvavy slows to an almost casual stroll, chest heaving as she quickly catches her breath.

“Hey, come now, no need to hide like this~!” Sadistic joy underlines those words, that shouted voice growing clearer the closer Krvavy gets. “We’re just... a little hungry~! So why don’t you let us in for a late lunch~?” That voice shifts in tone, becoming a little firmer. A little more threatening. “Or are the ideals of hospitality dead out here?”

Gathered around one of those stone ‘bastles’ are... roughly two dozen men. The vast majority of which are clad in padded gambesons, some with metal pauldrons or gauntlets or greaves, few with coats of mail, and fewer still with breastplates or helmets. Their weapons are brandished, a couple already bloodied. Axemen stand ready to break down the door to that barn slash house, aided by those with hammers and maces. The few bowmen present are eyeing narrow windows higher up on its second floor.

A handful of men stand further from the others... tying ropes between some rather uncooperative sheep and goats in an attempt to make those livestock more easily led.

“Tk tk.” The sound of a tongue being clicked echoes out from beneath an enclosed helmet, accompanied by the clopping of a horse’s hooves. “You lot are really keeping us waiting.”

Krvavy sweeps her gaze across this disorderly crowd. Only two knights are present, one on horseback and one on foot. Both are clad in full suits of dull, poorly polished armour. “Ahem.” She loudly clears her throat.

Only a couple eyes turn her way. But those few soldiers are kind enough to get the attention of their fellows. Soon, just about all of them are looking towards the rather scantily dressed Drakling. Some seem unnerved by her presence, mutterings of ‘demon’ shared amongst them, but the number of these men compared to just her singular presence seems to keep them from showing any signs of actual fear.

The mounted knight pauses, his horse coming to a sudden stop. “What are you supposed to be?”

Krvavy doesn’t deign to answer that question. Idly, she adjusts her top. By some miracle, her tits didn’t pop out of it despite how hard she ran. “Shouldn’t you all be halfway back home by now?”

Silence hangs in the hazy air, quickly broken by a single short snicker. One free of mirth.

“Not all of us wanted to return to that dreary place.” The unmounted knight grunts, pauldrons clanking as he rolls his shoulders, sword and shield in hand.

The Drakling slowly shakes her head, not a hint of sympathy in her entire being. “What a shame. Whether you want to go or not doesn’t matter at all. You were told to leave. So you should have left.”

“Ha!” Harsh, bitter laughter carries through the crowd. “The tyrant is dead and his taskmasters have scurried off like the rats they are! Why would we follow? To get more lashings for our slow and tardy pace? As if!”

“Yeah! There is no life in Volhynia for ‘miscreants’ like us! Just slavery in the name of soldiery!”

Krvavy’s fingers idly brush across the top of a nearly leafless bush. “So you chose desertion instead?” Her eyes don’t follow those armed men as they slowly spread out around her, but still she watches them move into position. “I wonder... what is the punishment for that back where you come from?”

“The gallows,” answers the knight on foot, his tone grim and cold. “Sometimes the gibbet, if our treason is severe enough.”

Krvavy pulls a twig free from the bush. A leaf still clings to it. “And theft?” She halfway glances towards the leashed livestock.

That knight answers once more. “The removal of a finger, one joint or in full, if the amount stolen is small. A hand if it is greater. The head if no more can be cut.”

“Why d’you want to know?” Another soldier calls out, his grip tightening around a two-handed axe. Which is really quite small compared to Krvavy’s own. “Planning a visit?” Yet more cruel laughter accompanies that... joke?

“Nah,” Krvavy’s thumb brushes over the still living leaf dangling near the tip of her twig. “I just figured it’d be fair to give you lot the same level of punishment as what you’re used to.” And also because she doesn’t know what the punishment for all of this would be here in Svaneti. Nor does she particularly care.

The sheer casualness of Krvavy’s attitude seems to rankle quite a few of these men. More and more they fan out, encircling and surrounding her. Spears and swords bristle like the quills of a porcupine.

“Ha!” A single snorted laugh pierces the silence, the pause that came before it betraying a degree of nervousness, perhaps? Or incredulous disbelief. “Is that a threat?” The mounted knight shakes his helmeted head. “Quite the empty one, coming from a lone, unarmed and unarmoured... thing... like yourself.”

“Is that so?” Krvavy’s emerald eyes pierce into the darkness behind that knight’s visor. “They why haven’t any of you attacked yet?” Her gaze slowly sweeps across the crowd surrounding her. Some of those men flinch as she focuses on them, others harden their expressions. “You’re not afraid, are you?”

“No, of course not!” A soldier hastily responds, earning a slight glare from some of the men by his side. That denial of his was far from convincing.

The Drakling idly nods. “Well, you should be. I’m the one who ripped the head off your ‘tyrant’.”

“Ha! Haha!” Immediately, chortling chuckles and snickering snorts ripple through the gathered soldiers. “HAHA! Hahaha! Ha!” Krvavy’s claim, no matter how true it actually is, was obviously a bit too much for them to believe. “Hahaha!”

“Really, you~? A half naked woman...” The gaze of whatever man is talking almost audibly drops down to the Drakling’s crotch, those tight pants making her package impossible to ignore. “...thing? Ha. You look the type to have claimed a street corner in the slums!”

“The only ‘head’ you would have taken would’ve been his bellend!”

A tinge of annoyance echoes through the barbarian’s very being, her pride poked and prodded. She rolls the twig between finger and thumb. Her other hand lazily rises up to her face, gently grasping at the piece of jewellery sitting snug on her lower left horn. Slowly, she removes the Ring of Pacified Presence that Rina had gifted her all those weeks ago.

Hardly a second later, a started bleat interrupts the soldiers’ mocking laughter.

“Fuck!” One of the men trying to corral the sheep and the goats curses as those animals suddenly begin to panic, pulling at their crude leads with more combined strength than any one of these soldiers could muster on their own. “Fu-aAAAH!” He topples backwards, having made the mistake of trying to block those fluffy creatures with his body.

“Hey! HEY!” The mounted knight pulls on his reins, but he can’t quite keep his horse under control, that beast stomping its hooves into the ground and thrashing its head side to side. “HEY! SETTLE DOWN!”

An insistent breeze billows and blows around the barbarian, her crimson hair fluttering at the edges of her vision.

With an ear-piercing whinny, that warhorse rears up... and bucks its rider off its back. “HE–EAAH!” That knight crashes into the ground, one leg still stuck in the stirrup. Chaos breaks loose, a couple of these scummy soldiers moving to help that knight, some simply getting out of the way of that armoured horse or the now stampeding livestock, while others turn their hostilities towards the source of this trouble.

-0.74 Health

The tip of a sharp spear slices across the back of Krvavy’s forearm, narrowly missing the rolled sleeve of her mostly opened top. She twists her body, bumping that long-poled weapon away from her core, before grasping at its wooden haft and giving it a strong tug. Her fist, scaled fingers wrapped around a swelling twig, flies to meet that ballsy and poorly armoured spearman’s face.

Critical Hit! 2,854.65 Damage dealt to [Aggressive Spearman]

Knuckles crash into a nose, utterly destroying it and driving that bloody chunk of cartilage deep into the spearman’s skull. His head violently jerks back, the momentum of his lunge and his foolish refusal to let go of his weapon used against him, neck snapping as a result.

That man, his level no doubt around half of this Drakling’s own, is dead in an instant. Before the earthen magics can even echo from Krvavy’s fist, a seismic shockwave blending his brain and sending shards of his skull shooting out as gory shrapnel.

[Aggressive Spearman] has been slain!
+427.5 Experience

8.36 Damage dealt to [Deserter Axeman]
3.59 Damage dealt to [Deserter Axeman]

1.71 Damage dealt to [Wavering Shield Soldier]

Dark and bloody ichor oozes from barbed thorns, the little living twig blooming into a Blackbriar Javelin. That thin and almost delicate weapon may not be as sturdy as steel, but it is far tougher and far more durable than it looks. It is strong enough to tear through a padded gambeson and pierce into the flesh beneath.

892.42 Damage dealt to [Mace Wielding Soldier]

A simple hammer crashes into that thin shaft, snapping it in two... and drawing an agonized scream from the man who had been stabbed. Blood and venom alike gush from that deadly wound.

Krvavy pulls back the half of her broken Blackbriar Javelin that she still holds, driving the small spike at its other end into the chest of a soldier trying to attack her from behind.

46.13 Damage dealt to [Opportunistic Soldier]

A few links of chainmail break and a fresh bruise is made, but no blood is drawn. Unfortunately.

-207.35 Health

Pain blossoms across the barbarian’s back, an axe chopping through her shirt and biting into the muscles between spine and scapula. She grits her teeth and thrashes her thick tail to the side, slamming that meaty thing into her assailant’s midsection.

1,235.87 Damage dealt to [Opportunistic Axeman]

A thunderous crack echoes out, the Seismic Stomp channelled through her tail sending that soldier flying back into his fellows, blood pouring from his open mouth as he chokes and sputters, struggling to breathe.

+120 Health

The freshly made wound in her back quickly closes, not having cut deep enough to even leave a scar.

An arrow whizzes towards Krvavy, only to be deflected away by the Turbulent Shroud protectively swirling around her. One of the soldiers shouts in pained anger as that projectile slams into his arm, the damage unfortunately getting mostly absorbed by his armour.

“DIE, DEMON CREATURE!” The knight that had not been riding a horse charges in, his raised shield pushing aside and knocking over the lesser soldiers not smart enough to get out of his way.

The Drakling’s inhuman foot lifts up... and then slams back down, casting her most used (combat) spell in the way it is intended. A wave of soil and sooty silt rolls outwards from where she stands, followed closely by jagged rocks jutting up from the earth.

62.48 Damage dealt to [Wavering Spearman]

57.29 Damage dealt to [Axe & Shield Soldier]
73.43 Damage dealt to [Axe & Shield Soldier]

24.63 Damage dealt to [Sword & Shield Knight]

The rushing knight stumbles and trips, lifting his sword high in a desperate attempt to turn that momentum into an attack... only to fall directly on the Drakling’s swiftly rising knee.

2,343.24 Damage dealt to [Sword & Shield Knight]

Metal creaks and caves in, ribs crunching and breaking beneath the force of a focused earthquake. Choked gasps see blood leak from the knight’s enclosed helmet as he collapses to the ground, sword slipping from his gauntleted fingers and shield nearly being dropped as well, if not for it being strapped to his forearm.

Rivers of red run towards Krvavy, gathering on the ground around her. A paltry amount, hardly more than a thin puddle. It doesn’t compare to the ocean she had spilled fighting her way to the (former) lord of these men. Still, it is helping her mana tick back up. Though... not too quickly. And with how much she has already spent, before and during this fight...

A faint light flashes from Krvavy’s right hand, her Soulbound weapon manifesting in a slightly translucent state before fully solidifying within that same heartbeat. Energy flows from the crystalline spearhead, from the Synthetic Heartstone which has joined with this weapon, into her reserves.

Clnk.

The cutting edge of that oversized axe presses against the thin overlapping plates protecting the fallen knight’s neck. His gauntleted hands grasp at that weapon, holding tight around its huge head. “Nnnnnh!” He desperately groans, using all of his might to push it back. And, as this single second stretches on, he begins to see some success.

The Drakling places her inhuman foot atop the butt of her axe, right between the reinforced section of its shaft and that ridged hammerhead. Her muscles flex as her considerable weight and her even greater strength suddenly forces that weapon down.

1,986.35 Damage dealt to [Sword & Shield Knight]

[Sword & Shield Knight] has been slain!
+1,485 Experience

A helmeted head rolls back and away from the body it had been attached to for years upon years.

Emerald eyes lift up from that fresh corpse, looking at these surrounding soldiers. Krvavy can see fear written across their faces. The grin that has been playing at her lips for some time already grows wider, carnivorous teeth peeking past her pale lips. “No.” That single word causes quite a few of them to flinch, the ones who are already turning away doing their best to pick up the pace. “None of you get to flee.”

“Hu–aAAH!?” Sounds of shock and fear echo through the hazy air as the ground beneath those soldiers’ feet grows unnaturally soft, surging up to grasp at their legs. “N-no!” They push and shove at each other, panicking like the livestock they tried to steal, but nothing they do helps them escape.

A few unlucky men fall down in that desperately scrambled scuffle, dirt rising up as vaguely shaped hands to pin their shoulders and arms in place, slowly pulling them further and further into the soil.

“Demon...! Thing...! Stop this...!” The (un)mounted knight’s shouted voice is strained as he struggles to push his way towards Krvavy, his armour scuffed and covered in dirt. But unlike those ice knights who could resist the effects of Grasping Ground with their magics... this man is just as helpless as the soldiers around him. “Fight and...! Die...!”

Another couple arrows fly towards the Drakling, whizzing past the heads of these cowardly, panicking deserters. But still Turbulent Shroud keeps them from striking true.

Krvavy takes one step forwards, casually kicking aside a hammer meant to strike her inhuman ankle.

The sharp, prismatic tip of her crystalline spearhead presses into the throat of a man groaning in more pain than any of the others present here, his skin pallid and pale. Blood continues to pour from the wound in his midsection, leaking freely around the jagged head of a broken javelin.

It takes just a quick thrust to show that soldier turned marauder some mercy, putting him out of his misery.

764.89 Damage dealt to [Mace Wielding Soldier]

[Mace Wielding Soldier] has been slain!
+444 Experience

Krvavy slowly shakes her head. Only to swiftly spin around as she catches sight of something strange at the edge of her vision, the tip of her tail swiping across a few soldiers with enough strength for damage notifications to pop into her perception.

A mote of vibrant blue light weaves through the crowd of screaming soldiers, moving almost too fast for her eyes to follow. It lunges at Krvavy and... abruptly launches itself high above her head, swirling and spiralling and shining almost painfully bright. It hovers there for a few long seconds, fizzling and hissing like water poured onto hot coals, before suddenly ceasing to be.

“AHHHGH!” A lance of the same bright blue flashes through the air, a pained shout piercing the panicked sounds as one of the archers is struck in the shoulder, that arm falling limp by his side. “AHHGHHHK!” Another lance punches a small hole through the chest of a second archer. A third is soon struck.

The barbarian glances back, towards the source of that accurate, arcane barrage.

A fair distance away, higher up on the hill at the edge of this shallow valley, is a man on horseback. His steed is stomping its hooves into the packed earth of the winding path it is standing upon, slowly shuffling backwards.

The Drakling sighs, that sound underlined by disappointment. Mana flows through her body as she activates Calm Creature. It doesn’t take effect immediately, not at this range. She turns her gaze towards the ground, looking past the few corpses and avoiding the desperate hands of the soldiers slowly being pulled down into the soil. A glint of metal catches her eye, a bit brighter than any of these men’s armour. She knees down and picks up the enchanted ring she had carelessly dropped at the start of this fight, brushing some of the dirt off before slipping it back onto her lower left horn.

“Krvavy!” The horseman’s voice calls out to her, growing louder by the second as said horse is finally willing to move forwards once more. “What is going on here?!”

“Just some deserters who decided to indulge in a bit of banditry.” The Drakling returns, looking towards the burning hovel that is far past the point of saving. “I’m not entirely sure if they killed anyone. But they certainly tried.”

“P-please! Mercy!” A single soldier desperately shouts at that approaching mounted mage, at the son of the previous Baron and brother to the current acting one. Others soon join him in begging for their lives. “Mercy!”

“I... see.” Kostas slowly sweeps his gaze across this scene he has stumbled upon, a complicated mix of emotions painted across his face.

The metal cap at the end of Krvavy’s Soulbound weapon roughly thumps into the wrist of a soldier trying to reach for his dropped sword. “What brings you here?” She plainly asks, grinding that hand into the ground. These deserters may have been essentially defeated, but they haven’t exactly surrendered. A few still have some fight left in them. “Did that guy run to get even more help?”

Kostas tilts his head, making his answer clear before he even speaks. “No.” His horse shuffles in place, unused to all of this desperate and furious shouting, wisely keeping its distance from that chaos. “We were... unaware of this incident. Thank you for dealing with it.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say that this problem is dealt with just yet.” The Drakling vaguely gestures at the crowd of struggling soldiers surrounding her. “But now that you’re here... I guess we can send these criminals off to be hanged.” Even if that would be a bit of a waste. Krvavy could have gotten another few level ups out of executing them all herself... But she isn’t a complete monster. Letting these men face justice in a more proper way, even if the result is the same, is the right thing to do. “They had their chance to live, but decided instead to bring even more death and destruction to Svaneti. I’m sure the people will be glad to see them punished for that.”

The mounted nobleman grimaces ever so slightly, though he still nods in agreement. With just a gesture, motes of bright blue light pop into existence around him, zipping back and forth as they swiftly disarm these mostly incapacitated deserters, a few arcs of energy helping to encourage that action. “Can you bind their arms with magic, restraining them without anchoring them in place?”

Krvavy drops into a squat, plucking a small pebble from the ground and pressing it into a nearby soldier’s wrist. Sculpt Stone sees that little rock grow in size, forming some solid and heavy cuffs. “Yeah,” she casually answers.

“Good. Let us be quick with this. The Baro–” Kostas cuts himself off, clearing his throat. “Father thought it prudent to inform you that the Countess of Raseyne has arrived at Castle Mestia.”