128th Vhalar, 715, A Few Breaks Before Midnight
"Yes," she whispered, her voice cracking. Charlie was unable to look at him. "Yes, I knew Pythera Venora." And how she knew her. The swing of the blade scarring Charlie's skin. She shuddered. "Oliver..." she took a deep breath, steeling herself, still unable to look into his eyes. "I was there. The day she fled. I couldn't... I couldn't stop her." Overcome, Charlie buried her face in her hands, her chest shuddering with guilt.
"I was only an Airman," she said softly, her voice muffled through her palms. "I didn't... I wasn't trained. Not well enough. And my Major at the time, he was an alcoholic, and not prepared. They only sent six of us. And we were too late. She escaped, into the woods, and some of us were badly hurt." Charlie was not one of them. She only had the superficial wound, not the gaping, bleeding hole Pythera had left in Andria's side. "She had help. The VII. She would be with them now, and we've been trying to find them..."
It was dark, night in the little village that had been so cruelly turned into a hunting ground for the six Skyriders. Hunting one of their very own in fact, Pythera Venora.
Loose cannon, some called her. Sadist said others, cringing at her horrific techniques on the battlefield.
Insane, that was the one whispered over steaming cups around the camp.
The village itself was but a small blip in the Warrick barony, a sheep farming town with no military presence and no fighters. Pythera had swept into it’s thatched roof presence a trial or so earlier on the back of her Volareon, making quick work of the village mayor and his meagre hand-man. Their rusty swords were no match for her lance and shield, dying slowly on the end of its blade as she glared into the fading light in their eyes.
From there, the townsfolk had locked their doors and hid their children under their beds. Some prayed to the Fates, others to the Seven and some even to the Immortals. Protect us, they begged in their homes as the sun set over the woods that surrounded them.
Pythera had sent word by way of her Volareon-come-messenger-pidgeon to the VII, to her hero, Vishal. The young blonde adored the woman, looked up to her, was captured by her words. The leader of the VII has a way of talking that made you want to love her, want to protect her, to be with her.
Unfortunately, the Skyriders had found her hiding place before the VII had arrived. Pythera had plans though, setting fire to the mayors hut to cause the so-called captures to have to become rescuers instead. The dry thatch all but exploded in flames, the fire licking its way across the roofing and fanned delightfully by the breeze it leapt onto the next house.
It was glorious.
Amidst the screaming and confusion and flames, the woman snuck her way around. She needed to make it beyond the village to the woods. There she could run.
There were only six after all. Six amateurs...well five now...
Leaning against one of the houses yet to catch, Pythera panted, her blonde locks tousled with sweat and blood, eyes wide and bright blue. Her lance had been abandoned in the innards of a colleague—well—a once colleague, and she now clutched tightly to her shield and a short short collected from one of the many dead. She glanced around the corner of the house, trying to see if the way was clear to cross and reach the woods. People were running, throwing water on their homes and the remaining Skyriders were aiding the wounded.
Now, now was her chance. Just a dash to freedom.
And go.
"I was only an Airman," she said softly, her voice muffled through her palms. "I didn't... I wasn't trained. Not well enough. And my Major at the time, he was an alcoholic, and not prepared. They only sent six of us. And we were too late. She escaped, into the woods, and some of us were badly hurt." Charlie was not one of them. She only had the superficial wound, not the gaping, bleeding hole Pythera had left in Andria's side. "She had help. The VII. She would be with them now, and we've been trying to find them..."
This is a wild game...
Loose cannon, some called her. Sadist said others, cringing at her horrific techniques on the battlefield.
Insane, that was the one whispered over steaming cups around the camp.
The village itself was but a small blip in the Warrick barony, a sheep farming town with no military presence and no fighters. Pythera had swept into it’s thatched roof presence a trial or so earlier on the back of her Volareon, making quick work of the village mayor and his meagre hand-man. Their rusty swords were no match for her lance and shield, dying slowly on the end of its blade as she glared into the fading light in their eyes.
From there, the townsfolk had locked their doors and hid their children under their beds. Some prayed to the Fates, others to the Seven and some even to the Immortals. Protect us, they begged in their homes as the sun set over the woods that surrounded them.
Pythera had sent word by way of her Volareon-come-messenger-pidgeon to the VII, to her hero, Vishal. The young blonde adored the woman, looked up to her, was captured by her words. The leader of the VII has a way of talking that made you want to love her, want to protect her, to be with her.
Unfortunately, the Skyriders had found her hiding place before the VII had arrived. Pythera had plans though, setting fire to the mayors hut to cause the so-called captures to have to become rescuers instead. The dry thatch all but exploded in flames, the fire licking its way across the roofing and fanned delightfully by the breeze it leapt onto the next house.
It was glorious.
Amidst the screaming and confusion and flames, the woman snuck her way around. She needed to make it beyond the village to the woods. There she could run.
There were only six after all. Six amateurs...well five now...
Leaning against one of the houses yet to catch, Pythera panted, her blonde locks tousled with sweat and blood, eyes wide and bright blue. Her lance had been abandoned in the innards of a colleague—well—a once colleague, and she now clutched tightly to her shield and a short short collected from one of the many dead. She glanced around the corner of the house, trying to see if the way was clear to cross and reach the woods. People were running, throwing water on their homes and the remaining Skyriders were aiding the wounded.
Now, now was her chance. Just a dash to freedom.
And go.
Note
Guest modding for Charlie, no knowledges earns for myself