As a trained soldier of rank, and also a very brave man by nature, it was no surprise that Rochester was the first to move. Approaching his larger opponent with frightening speed, the former Sergeant then quickly interlaced the man’s arms with his own so that he could not make further use of his broad-bladed knife.
The two servants were about to advance to assist their companion, but found themselves suddenly halted suddenly by that mustachioed former manservant, who they learned had collected an armful of sizable stones which was now throwing haphazardly in their direction! Even with the man’s less-than-perfect aim, the stones were large enough to pose a danger.
Meanwhile, after some moments spent wrestling, leaning, and leveraging, Rochester finally managed to get a solid grip on Crawford’s forearms and he took his opportunity and squeezed! The Elder cried out in equal parts anger and pain as he was forced to loosen his grip, letting his weapon skitter away and bounce off the edge of the steep slope before it finally fell out of sight. Unfortunately, the glint of light as the weapon fell had caught Rochester’s eye for the briefest moment, which gave Crawford the opening he needed to rear back and then violently bash his forehead into his opponent’s brow!
When Rochester released his grip and stumbled back from the blow, Crawford then lifted one heeled boot high before he swung it directly into the soldier’s midsection.
Rochester fell back, the wind having been quite thoroughly knocked from his sails, but thankfully the two servants had managed to make their way forward and now stood ready at either side, their stances wide and their hands raised and ready to grapple him! Old Belfort pounced without hesitation and even managed to trap one of Crawford’s arms in his own, restraining his opponent as best as his frail body would allow. Hemsley threw himself forward, intent to latch himself onto Crawford’s other arm, but at the last possible moment the man managed to raise it up out of reach, all the better to swing his fist down onto Hemsley’s noggin like a hammer. With a yelp of pain, the conscript-turned-servant was knocked face-first onto the dry, rocky soil. Then, with one arm free, Crawford was then able to land his balled-up fist squarely between Belfort’s eyes!
Feeling the tides beginning to turn against their lot, the mustachioed servant took advantage of the moment in which all eyes were focused on Crawford to make his own escape, disappearing unnoticed into the darkness of the forest...
…Or, rather, that had been his intention. But he had failed to account for the possibility that, while Crawford had entirely commanded everyone else’s attention, the man himself had a sharp and discerning gaze that he cast like a wide net across everything around him.
“Traitor!” Crawford cried angrily after his fellow conspirator. “Get back here–!” But before the enraged Elder could finish his command, he was struck with a most painful blow!
He stumbled back, clutching his chest at the spot where, at breakneck speed, the valiant Missy had just planted the thickest part of her skull!
Crawford grit his teeth as he staggered back from the old beast, looking back up just in time to avoid the back-legged kick which would have undoubtedly spelled his death.
She let out a low, menacing huff of frustration at the missed her strike. Stomping forward rapidly, Crawford brought one vengeful fist swinging down across the Mule’s jaw, disrupting her balance.
She might have recovered from his blow if not for the many large packs strapped upon her back, the weight of which caused her to topple to her side on the ground. Much like a turtle which has been knocked on its back, she was left unable to right herself under her own power, and thus was also rendered unable to fight.
Having been granted enough time to recover himself, Rochester was ready to attack once again, and this time he kept his body poised to move and angled to present a smaller target for his opponent to hit, with his fists raised before him in such a way that he could easily block a blow or strike out with one of his own at a moment’s notice. Crawford was a bully and a brawler when he wanted to be, but he had never been particularly trained for or practiced in a fight, so while the younger and more nimble man peppered him with a flurry of light but precisely-aimed jabs, the Elder had no similar luck, for he swung great meaty fists in wide arcs that Rochester could easily avoid.
However, the advantage Rochester had in terms of his skill and speed, the Elder had in power. After absorbing several quick blows to the chest and face which winded him and bloodied his lip, the irate and red-faced Crawford managed to catch Rochester’s head between his two meaty hands, which allowed him to act most dishonorably as he dug his thumbs into his opponent’s eyes!
Rochester cried out in agony under Crawford’s savage grip and blood began to seep down his face and drip from Crawford’s hands. Then the Elder suddenly turned and, by way of the iron grip he still held on the smaller man’s head, he threw Rochester headlong over the side of the steep cliff!
“No!” Niklas cried, reaching out in a vain attempt to catch his companion, who had already tumbled most painfully across the sharp, rocky outcropping and disappeared from view.
Having disposed of all three of the distracting pests that stood in his way, Crawford then turned on his heel and marched directly towards the small Count. His expression in that moment was a seething mask of rage, his features having twisted into an almost painfully unnatural scowl, and the flesh of his face having grown so red that it was almost purple! Niklas scrambled back to his feet in a hasty attempt to make his escape, but it was too late–Crawford was already upon him.
The Elder snatched Niklas up by his frail neck and lifted him from his feet with a single hand, and as Niklas gasped for breath his captor stepped forward until his prey was suspended most dangerously over the side of the cliff. The Count’s feet dangled helplessly over open air while he frantically clawed at the Elder’s wrists and hands, desperate for some kind of relief as the weight of his own body dragged down upon his neck and strangled him!
“I’ve had enough of this farce!” Crawford announced with a viciously satisfied kind of sneer.
But it was then that from the trees and brush of the forest which surrounded their rocky cliffside battlefield emerged a dark and looming figure. Of course, considering the sheer size and breadth of it, this newcomer could only be Uldred, yet as she under the dark shadow of the trees, with the cold moonlight at her back only just outlining the edges of her hooded cloak, her identity remained inscrutable.
“Niklas!” Was the single word that was spoken by her booming voice, which rang out across the barren plain and echoed as it passed over the cliffside to fill the rocky canyon below.
The Elder turned to glance back over his shoulder towards her and, for the first time, his expression of anger fell into a horrified, wide-eyed stare of pure dread, his complexion paling in an instant from a ripe puce to a chalky white. With a quick and agile gait uncharacteristic of her massive size, Uldred swept out through the last layer of forest brush and was already halfway towards the cliff’s edge where Crawford stood strangling Niklas.
“S-stop!” Crawford stammered out fearfully, thrusting the arm with which he held Niklas a little further out over the gaping chasm!
The effectiveness of his threat was proven as Uldred was forced to come to a sudden halt, the change in momentum causing the hood of her cloak to fall and pool around shoulders. The Countess now stood close enough for the moonlight to easily illuminate the many pits and scars that made up the ruined half of her face which she had previously shown to Niklas. The rest of her countenance was yet hidden under the shadow of her dark hair.
When the Elder saw her terrible visage Niklas felt as much as saw a shudder run up and through every inch of the man’s body, from the tips of his toes to the hairs on the top of his head, which now stood almost on end!
However, the Elder was used to obscuring his true emotions, and even this swell of bone-deep terror he managed to withdraw beneath a veneer of righteous anger. Perhaps he was partly able to do so by using the shameful twist of inadequacy deep within his guts as kindling to fuel a fire of indignation within his belly. Whatever the case may be, Crawford managed to meet Uldred’s gaze with an unwavering, withering glare of hatred.
“Th-this has all gone tits-up!” He stammered, his voice betraying the fear that his face covered so well. “S-so here’s what is going to happen: you’re all going to let me walk out of here, and I will return safely to my home and my village. Swear on your honor that you will do this, or I’ll toss the Count over the cliff right now!” His words were soaked in desperation, his voice cracking under the strain of attempting to keep his wits together in such a dire situation.
“Put. Him. Down.” Uldred commanded in reply. Her voice then was infused with the same unquestionable, resolute authority with which she directed dozens of men in the heat of battle and dictated policies which shaped the fate of her County and all the lives within it.
In moments like this it was impossible not to see her as a woman who was born for the sole purpose of leadership and control.
She took another heavy step towards Crawford then, causing him to thrust Niklas a little further out into the open air, after which she halted once more.
“Oh, if only your late Father could see you now–how disappointed he would be!” Growled Crawford, which drew a startled look from Uldred even as he continued his tirade. “Letting foreign Kings and pompous Nobles intrude at their leisure, walk all over us, and disrespect our traditions and our culture… If he were alive, bless his soul, he would never have allowed any of this nonsense into our lands!”
Having just managed to catch a glimpse of Uldred over Crawford’s shoulder, Niklas was startled to see the horrified look that she wore upon her face in that moment. Perhaps it was due to the ever-present, inscrutable silver mask she had worn at all times, but he had always received an impression of nonchalance and blasé from her demeanor, as if she was someone thick-skinned, upon whom mere spoken words did not leave much of an impression. Now, however, her face was bare and he could read the regret and uncertainty writ upon it, even through the unfamiliar shapes created by the play of light and shadow across her scarred countenance!
Meanwhile, inside the mind of the Countess, a million memories were currently playing themselves out, burdening her already weary soul with a heavy weight. Most were dreadful memories of a looming figure–of a man even larger than she stood now–with greasy, unkempt black hair and an equally disheveled beard. His dead, fish-like violet eyes stared out from the harsh and bitter expression that he wore at all times like a battered steel helm.
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As if it happened just yesterday, she recalled how he would scream at and berate a much younger version of herself for even the slightest perceived slights with a deep, booming voice that rivaled her own as an adult. It would make her head throb and ring painfully in her ears with how loudly and close he would shout at her. For failures she made during her education–and there were many of those–he would swat at her with the back of his hand, drive the heel of his boot into her temple, or sometimes even sink his boulder-hard fist into the softest part of her guts.
For this adolescent girl, nearly every day the leader of Petrice became a creature infinitely more terrible and threatening than any of the horrid monsters that crawled in from the West, and then nearly every night he would shrink back into the shape of a most decrepit, wretched and pathetic soul. In this way he was not unlike some kind of Lycan, a man cursed to transform into a wild beast upon the full moon each month. She would be awoken from her own fitful slumber by the sound of wailing cries, and when she crept up to his bedchamber to peek inside she would find him weeping into the open air, curled in upon himself like a small child, sat before a glass of drink and surrounded by any number of empty bottles. These were some of the painful moments that she recalled then, as the old man who she stared down upon waxed poetic of a far-gone time with a note of heroic worship playing on his tongue.
“Your Father detested foreigners!” Was what she heard him spit as her attention returned to the present moment. “He saw them for what they were: selfish and destructive! Anything they touch turns to rot. Whenever one came crawling in to sell us some new tool or invention, they always had a hidden catch, all meant to make us weak, lazy, and dependent upon their generosity. Can you not see reason, Countess, like your Father before you? It is all too clear that this one seeks to weaken us as well!” He then pointedly shook Niklas painfully by his throat, which spurred the Count to dig his fingernails into the man’s wrist, kicking his legs in a desperate, futile bid to find some kind of relief.
“I was trying to help you..!” Niklas choked out from within the Elder’s bruising grasp.
“Shut up!” Crawford growled out in reply, shaking him again, this time in pure agitation.
“My Father…” Uldred spoke then indignantly cutting short whatever his next words would have then. “...was a sad, pathetic wretch.”
“...W-what?” Crawford asked in bewilderment after a moment of bewildered silence.
“To him the world was a lightless, cold, and gray place.” She continued, taking another step nearer as she spoke. “Whatever time he did not spend weeping in drunken sadness, he was instead seething with rage and hatred. He was angry at the world, and hateful towards his child–no his children.”
She continued forward slowly, menacingly, as she spoke. The old man was so enraptured by her words that he did not even react to her approach. And as she shared her revelations his expression transformed from a look of baffled confusion to a burning defiance, which then slowly sunk in on itself as he fell into despair.
“My Father hated you all. He hated this land!” She spat, stepping close enough now that she was nearly within arm’s reach as she menacingly loomed over him. “And this land is as lifeless and miserable as it is because he made it that way, shaped it to be in his image! He only ever wanted Petrice and its people to suffer as much as he was.”
“No, you’re wrong!” Crawford replied, even as his voice trembled at her words. “He was a great man! A leader who we all aspired to be like one day…”
Uldred grinned then in a twisted and bitter imitation of a true smile, and she breathed out a sad sigh as she looked down at the man who had held such a tormented and spiteful being in such high esteem. “Well, then, congratulations. You are.”
Suddenly, and with the lightning-quick speed expected of a fierce Petrician Monster-hunter, Uldred lunged for Crawford’s wrist–the very same one which held Niklas aloft over the deadly drop below. Shocked and unthinking, the Elder instinctively released his grasp upon Niklas’ neck, which then caused the young man to plummet straight down over the cliff!
Lashing out with her other arm, Uldred moved to grab ahold of him by his collar, but Crawford had already recovered his wits enough to surge forward and wrap his arms around her torso, tackling her with all of the strength he could muster. Her position was awkward and unsteady enough that she could not resist his hold, and with a reverberating thud the two powerhouses toppled to the earth!
“No!” Uldred cried out as she watched Niklas attempt to halt his fall by wrapping his arms around the sharp stones at the edge of the cliff. However, he was too weak to maintain his grip upon them, and within moments his arms went slack and he plummeted down and out of sight!
Due in no small part to luck, but aided by his desperation to survive, Niklas dug the tips of his fingers and the toes of his boots into the side of the angled earthen wall as he fell, leaving bloody grooves in the dirt as his fingernails tore with the violent force of his descent. He suddenly came to a painful, crashing, miraculous halt as he grasped an old root that stuck out from between the rocks about three meters down off the cliffside!
Swiftly overpowering the old man’s further attempts to hold her at bay, Uldred scrambled desperately over to the cliff’s edge, spying where Niklas hung precariously from that pitiful and spindly root. At first she attempted to reach her hand down towards him, leaning over the rocky ledge until she was half-dangling by her waist, held aloft by the incredible muscular strength she had developed over the years.
Niklas reached one of his small, trembling arms upwards in return, and the tips of their fingers almost nearly touched, but by then Crawford had scrabbled forward himself, intent on tipping Uldred fully over the edge! Faster than an eye can blink, the Countess rolled onto her back, grabbing the edge of the cliff with both hands, and she swiftly readied her left leg and delivered a thunderous kick to the Elder’s jaw, sending him flying back several feet to sprawl limply upon the dirt!
Returning her attention back to her beleaguered husband, she was aggrieved to find that, after he had reached for her hand, even his small weight had become too great for the old root he clung to, and he had slipped even farther down the cliffside than before. With no other option left to her, Uldred immediately clambered down over the side of the cliff, her massive frame hanging off the rocky slope by one hand as she reached desperately downwards with her other.
“Niklas!” She cried out to him, her voice hoarse and cracking under the strain she was putting on her body. Her mad, impossible efforts to rescue him spurred him to push himself one last time.
Slowly, carefully, Niklas heaved himself up the length of that tenacious root until he gripped its slightly sturdier base, after which he managed to swing his body up and over to one side until he stood with his wobbly legs perched upon a small stone ledge that jutted out from the cliff wall. Having found his footing, he stretched up, reaching with every particle of his entire being to take ahold of that large hand, and he finally managed to latch onto a single extended forefinger and held it firm! No sooner had he accomplished this feat than did the stone ledge crumble and fall from beneath him, leaving his entire small frame dangling from a single finger of Uldred's hand!
“Oh dear God!” Niklas cried in alarm as his eyes followed the rocks tumbling into the chasm below him, before he looked back up at his wife, who he held onto for dear life.
His eyes grew wide then for a reason other than fear, for from his vantage point beneath Uldred, with the dark fall of her hair askew from her tussle and the light of the moon falling down upon her from above, in that moment he finally looked upon the entirety of her face for the first time! Her pale skin shone in comparison to her inky black hair, her sharp violet eyes were softened by their frame of long, feathery lashes, and her long, thin lips and well-defined, aristocratic features glistened with a sheen of perspiration.
She was gazing down upon his dangling form with a weary, yet radiant smile of relief, and it was the most beautiful sight he had ever laid eyes upon in his life. The Countess of Petrice, his savior and wife, looked to him so astoundingly beautiful in that moment that he felt an onset of strange and confusing symptoms afflict him: his heart thumped most painfully in his chest, his breath became caught in his throat, and his already spent muscles weakened further to the point that he nearly lost his hard-won grasp upon her and fell to his doom once again!
Following on the heels of Niklas’ newest near-death experience, a shadow grew over the endangered young couple. Uldred, sensing the approaching presence, looked up just in time to confirm that it was the Elder Crawford of Wiffeld once more, his face now so poisoned with hate and rage that he looked as if he had been possessed by some kind of Demon. The irises of his bulging, bloodshot eyes had shrunken to such small pinpricks that his eyes appeared to be almost completely white. His skin was flushed deep red, and his forehead and arms visibly throbbed with a network of engorged, pulsing veins as, high above his head, he lifted an enormous boulder, which he prepared to smite his Count and Countess with once and for all!
“The Count… is dead!” Crawford roared through his bloody, gritted teeth. But before Uldred or Niklas could move so much as an inch, and unexpected voice rang out defiantly.
“Long live the Count!” Replied a voice at his back.
Of all the souls in the world Niklas could have expected to see in that moment, he would not have thought of Rochester! He had seen the man cut down and tossed over this very cliff, only to miraculously return and rise again– bloody and bruised, to be sure, but unbroken! The Otkornian Sergeant threw himself with all of his might into the back of the murderous Elder.
The boulder was sent crashing down the side of the cliff, and in fact fell so dangerously close to where Niklas hung that he felt the wind of its passage whip at his hair! As the men' s entangled bodies fell past the Count and Countess, Rochester simply shot them a mischievous grin, but Crawford flailed and danced pathetically in panic as he plummeted. His final sound was a wordless wail protesting the unfortunate fate that his pride had wrought upon himself!
For a few moments the wail grew quieter beneath them before it was cut short with a great, dull clatter of bodies disturbing the rocky surface below.
And then, finally, the night was calm and silent.
Uldred immediately hoisted Niklas up far enough for him to scramble back to solid ground, before she then used both of her hands to lift herself back up to safety. Niklas foolishly attempted to assist her with his meagre strength, only to find himself knocked to his seat as she lost her balance and fell towards him, effectively knocking both of them down onto the dirt.
After the dust of their fall had settled Niklas opened his eyes, but he immediately found that his gaze was entirely taken up by hers, for as she had toppled over she had fallen in such a way that they now lay face-to-face, and so close together that he could feel where the tip of her nose brushed his own! For a beat of time neither of the two moved, simply staring into each other’s souls, entranced, feeling one another’s hot breaths upon their faces, attempting to register everything had just befallen them.
And then the spell was broken as, at the same time, both of their countenances flushed bright red, they let out matching yelps in alarm and quickly scrambled to separate from each other and hide their blushing faces from the other’s sight. Now apart, they sat on the stony ground in silence for a good deal of time, looking out into the darkness of the forest, either one too embarrassed to say anything to the other. Finally Niklas cleared his throat and stood to his feet, beating some dust off of the seat of his pants. Then he turned and awkwardly reached one small, scraped and dirtied hand down to his wife.
“Let’s go home, Uldred.”
With a great effort, she managed to set aside her own embarrassment to put on her best approximation of a pleasant smile as she nodded in reply.
And if, perhaps, their hands stayed clasped together for just a second longer than it took for Niklas to help Uldred to her feet, neither of them spoke a word about it.
