Briarwood Family/Gwendolyn/The Slaughter

Roleplay from Gwendolyn Briarwood

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Gwendolyn: The Slaughter (PT 1)

Through the obsidian shroud of night, Lady Gwendolyn led the Blackshields across the bridge, her countenance devoid of the worry that was etched on the faces behind her. The Sallowtown Spearmen followed her, their unease cloaked by the darkness. The region of Garuck Udor lay under the shroud of night, an unsettling quiet reigning over the land, save for the distant thundering that rolled through the air like a premonition.

Advance," Gwendolyn commanded in a voice devoid of intonation, her flat gaze fixed on the darkness ahead. The soldiers moved in response, following her lead with obedient precision, the metal elk masks of the Blackshields casting eerie shadows as they stepped in unison across the bridge's worn stones.

To Gwendolyn's side stood Captain Elvira, her unease manifest in shaky words. "None can see aught in this darkness," Elvira murmured, her grip on her spear a white-knuckled testament to her apprehension. "Perhaps we should wait for dawn."

Gwendolyn's response was silence. She raised her hand, a gesture that halted her troops. The quiet night seemed to amplify the disquiet etching across the faces of the Sallowtown Spearmen, their eyes flickering with growing worry and fear. In contrast, the Blackshields stood resolute, their metal elk masks giving nothing away.

A distant rumbling grew louder, the sound of hooves thundering through the black expanse. Stillness hung in the air, broken only by the intensifying anticipation. Gwendolyn's orders sliced through the silence, sharp as a blade. "Ready. They come."

Abruptly, the air shattered, releasing monstrous screams that heralded a malevolent surge. As one, Gwendolyn and her unit charged into the abyss. A cacophonous clash ensued as men and beasts collided in a fury of violence.

In the chaos, Her movements were swift, precise, an intricate dance between life and death. But the sheer number of the creatures forced her to a defensive stance, her blade parrying blows, her body twisting away from claws that sought her life. The Blackshields bore the brunt, crushed by colossal beasts, while the spearmen fell before rending claws. Stumbling back Gwendolyn collided with Elvira. A retreat urged Elvira's nervousness to transform into screams. She lunged at a beast that swiped its claw in turn, an arm severed. Her agony echoing in the night, Elvira stumbled into Gwendolyn, who received a jarring blow to the chest in return.

The world slowed as Gwendolyn fell, a rib fracturing, consciousness waning. The battlefield was painted in red and darkness, the clashing of metal and beastly fury a symphony of violence, soldiers around her falling to shadows. Gwendolyn's ribs protested as she fell, coughing against the pain. She rolled, avoiding the weight of the creature's stamping foot, and then with a fluid motion, she rose into a crouch, her blade in hand.

Warhorns sounded in the distance, a clarion call to retreat. The Sallowtown Spearmen faltered, carrying an unconscious Elvira to safety. Two Blackshields pulled her back, their determination mingling with desperation. "Retreat, Lady Gwendolyn," one urged, his voice tense.

She shook her head, her gaze unyielding beneath her golden elk skull mask. The mask was wrenched from her face, and a scream pierced the air as the other Blackshield met his doom. Gwendolyn's stance remained unbroken as her eyes locked onto the towering creature leading the onslaught, its primal might unmatched threw the fallen man to the side.

Then, a forceful shove, and Gwendolyn tumbled onto the bridge, her gaze lifting to lock onto a towering beast.

The Blackshield who pushed her, consumed by vengeance, charged but was seized by the head by the beast, he slashed at its torso in futile effort as it seemed to snort in annoyance. The beast crushed the man's head, blood splattering from his hand to the ground as the Blackshield fell limp. Lifeless.

A fire ignited by the fallen torches, swallowed the dry grass, forming a barrier that separated Gwendolyn from the horde. Amidst the inferno, she found herself alone with a tall beast, its tribal tattoos marking it as a chiefling, the eldest son of the pack's leader. Flames danced in her sapphire eyes as her blade's silver light shone brighter.

Remembering the words of the Helical, Gwendolyn's lips moved eerily, her voice devoid of emotion. "Just... one... beast." Her eyes flickered with a faint glint as if reflecting some hidden purpose With an almost mechanical grace, she rose from her fallen position, the edges of her cloak trailing through the dust, gore and embers. There was no hesitation, no flicker of doubt. She stepped forward, into the path of the chiefling and whispered, "Your end beckons."