faewylds | Call Me Out 2021

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· Call me Out 2021 ·

· Christopher Wolfe ·

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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."