faewylds | Call Me Out 2021

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· Call me Out 2021 ·

· Christopher Wolfe ·

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From:

scaledwolf

From:

minorgod

The skirmish had been small, but orchestrated with a precision that confirmed it had not been a chance encounter but a focused attack. Thankfully casualties had been low — specifically their supplies had been targeted, no doubt in an attempt to destabilize their party's progress and provoke the group's lesser-loyal into desertion. Sellswords were not immune to this: the contracts they signed almost always included the stipulation that their members be provided food as part of their employment, but the Second Sons would not be so easily dissuaded, and Yato was proud that his fellow companymen were steadfast.

The raiders had been stopped, most killed but a few escaping. Now, in the aftermath of the attack with dawn coming over the horizon, the seemingly young man flitted from group to group of injured, offering aid. He fetched bandages and salves, dressed wounds and

For as much as his sellsword brethren liked to tease that Yato was 'the only sellsword alive who didn't actually like to fight', he'd been in the thick of it during the assault. Slender blade glinting like a deadly shaft of moonlight, slicing down one raider after another with barely a blink. He hadn't been with the Northerners employ for very long, but for those who'd talked to him, it was a startling departure from the affable and slightly dorkish demeanour he had the rest of the time.

Yato's own cloak was cut in several places, and his armor bore new gouges that hadn't been there before... but there was no evidence of bleeding, nor did he move in a way that implied injuries. Despite the fact that he only wore a mid-weight black cloak, he didn't seem at all affected by the chilly morning, his boots crunching on the heavy frost in the grass.

"Pardon," he says politely, gesturing at a nearby wooden handcart. "Is that being used right now? I was going to sort some of the broken barrels into new containers to be repacked."

From:

umbraeternam

There were days she really missed this — an actual ground battle, being in the thick of things, almost constantly in motion and on the move. Perhaps it was partly because everything tended to fall away in the heat of battle. All the little pointless irritants, the daily stresses, the overarching drama of it all. It was just herself and her blade moving as one, a certain fluidity to her movements that came from innate ability almost more than years upon years of practice.

Granted, Kylo didn't purely look out for herself. Not anymore. Jon was near; she could feel his strong presence in the Force even when she couldn't lay eyes on him. They were both capable of handling more than their fair share of combatants in a fight but that didn't mean there wasn't at least some level of concern in the background, a quiet desire to make sure the other wasn't in more danger than they could handle at the moment.

As she dispatched the last of a group of rebel soldiers that had thought they outnumbered her Kylo straightened, her unrestricted gaze sweeping the immediate area. Her helm had been damaged in a prior battle that same week so she was without it for this assault, not terribly worried about needing it since most days she could get by perfectly fine without it. Truly it was more for intimidation than anything else these days. The rubble caused by First Order ships doing a bombing run before the ground troops landed meant there was much to block her view and she growled under her breath in discontent, striding off in the direction of Jon's presence.

A set of blaster shots whizzed by, causing her to grumble further, and she tossed out her open hand to send the shooter back against what likely had been a duracrete wall. While she wasn't entirely certain of what buildings all this wreckage had once been, she was confident it wasn't residential, which secretly she was pleased by. Despite outward appearances — and the whole matter of currently leading the First Order — she preferred it when innocent deaths and injury were minimal. She didn't want to cut a bloody swath through the galaxy, but she would when and if people forced her hand.

Kylo shifted direction, her senses feeling a twinge of danger and making her worry about an attempted ambush if she continued along where the shooter had been. There was less of a path and she picked her way over the rubble and bodies, her lightsaber remaining lit and at the ready at her side. The sounds of close combat grew louder, making her quicken her pace in eager anticipation, but just before she rounded the corner of a building that remained standing her senses screamed with alarm. Kylo froze, gripping her saber tighter, and her eyes caught on a trigger sensor across the way just before the hidden explosive went off. While she didn't have time to brace herself or direct the blast of energy a different direction, she was able to create a shield between herself and the outward blast. Something that would have likely been enough if she had been out in the open rather than in relatively close quarters.

The force of the blast threw her back into a partially collapsed wall, knocking her out almost immediately, though her instincts maintained the shield long enough to prevent any rubble or debris from landing on her. Reflexively her saber had been switched off but the hilt remained tightly clutched in her hand as she lay on the ground, breathing accelerated but steady.