Scale Singer

Chapter 2. The Bandits

It was a time for bitter rejoice for the people of Oakridge. Though the attack of the gnolls had been

suppressed, it did not feel right to celebrate with so many of their neighbors lying dead within the street.

Though it did look like a slaughter, least the gnolls had not gone berserk, leaving the dead… dead, rather then

hacking and maiming like the other wild races normally do. Although, the one who had seemed to help the most,

had already left early that morning, wishing to avoid the praise that the villagers would most likely give out.


“Damnable…” Kirimadd mutters to himself. While casting a glance over his shoulder, down the hill

towards the village, as it lay in a small ‘valley’, if one could even call it that. There where almost no

mountains in the area, however, the hills themselves where almost big enough to count in their stead.


Broken away from idle thoughts, by a sound not too far off in the distance, a bit further south then

the eastern road he traveled. The sound of hoof on dirt, alerting his ears, and forcing his head to turn

towards what appeared to be a coming caravan; perhaps even gypsies by the look of the purple cloths sat about

the windows in a layman’s lux Rol Rolling his eyes, he would rather not partake of their games and foolery, and

passes by upon the other side.


It was a full day’s walk, only a quarter of that for those whom had a horse, but for Kirimadd, he had

none. Instead, he chose to walk. The road itself twisted and turned up the steep hills, and down into long

gently sloping plains. The sword itself rested across Kirimadd’s back, sharing space only with a pack, made

from leather, and a strap that moved over only one shoulder, the other sharing the same strap that the large

sword itself clung upon. The trip was long… very long, and as, perhaps most would believe, boring for the most

part. Shoulder sagged, but Kirimadd himself just stared forward, eyes narrowed towards the far horizon… the

gates of the city he would see as the sun would start to set.


Or at least that was the original plan. Zipping out from somewhere out off to the side, an arrow cuts

the air just in front of Kirimadd’s path, forcing him to stop. Head turns off towards where the arrow had

zipped from, but saw no one, though out of the bushes upon the other side of the road, a few scraggily men

crawled out, daggers clutched to their side like they where vital organs in pain. Finally, they form the road

to surround Kirimadd, and his humble pack that he carried with him.


“Oi… not ver’h sma’t is ya? Walk’n our road wit no protection…”


A third giggles to that statement, “Yes! But uh… if’n ya hand us a bit of coin, we could make sure ya

get along quite safely,” grinning wide, teeth having long since deteriorate and rotted into mangled bits of

bone. Kirimadd remains silent.


“Oi… dija not ‘ear us?”


“I heard you…” Kirimadd’s simple reply comes.


“Yea, you ‘eard us… but obviously too stupid ta undahstand!” Kirimadd only scrunches his nose in a look

of disgust, and starts to move forward, past the biggest and tallest of the men. One thick arm, about the

thickness of Kirimadd’s torso himself, dressed in what could best be expld asd as a potato sack bag… though the

rancid smell of sweat still lingering upon the man, as black onyx hair stuck itself to his head from the sweat

of the day. Kirimadd’s eyes lift over and upwards to the man.


“I don’t need your protection…” he calmly states. “Nor your stupid idle threats…”


“Oi… we’ll show ya idle…” Grinning, the big burly man making sure Kirimadd couldn’t run down the path,

being surrounded elsewhere by bandits with their cruel knives, daggers, and short swords pulled. Keeping his

pack upon his back, as dropping it or anything could mean that they would run off with it…


Right as the first would start to stab, Kirimadd sidesteps, though without a small slice to the side.

Growling in pain he continues the turn and brings his fist full of rage to the bandit’s face. A loud crack is

heard, as the nose breaks, and blood leaks from the man’s eyes and face, as Kirimadd literally presses his fist

through the skulls, not all the way, though enough that not all the herbs in the world would save the man, who

falls backwards on top of one of his comrades like an empty bag.


“Bloody ‘ell!” One curse at the top of his lungs, but by then, Kirimadd leans forward, grabbing the

fallen dead man by the shirt in the left hand, ripping his dagger from the cold grasp within the right, and

blindly throwing it towards the nearest bandit. A blood curling scream, as Kirimadd misses his target of the

man’s heart, the dagger dropping its trajectory, and sinking into the man’s groin. Enraged the last three

attack, but without a definite leader to take down, it wasn’t going to be a simple one kill fight. First the

tall Burly man was easy enough to dodge; quick on his feet, noth hih his punches… the first priority was to be

the two with the weapons. Ducking down forward from the double whammy from gruesome, before jumping and

rolling to the side from a sword jab. Finally throwing down his backpack and sword, both falling to the ground

with loud thuds, Kirimadd actually charges weaponless for one of the two bandits, who takes the free time to

stab? Though, unexpected to the poor bastard, as Kirimadd opens one arm of the wide opened sleeve, the sword

cutting nothing but air, as Kirimadd then wraps his arm around the wrist, and tugs as he twists his body,

throwing the upper shoulder right into the bandit’s own, knocking him down towards the ground.


Though, by wrapping his arm just around the wrist, as the shoulder connects, and the bandit falls,

Kirimadd jerks his arm back, pulling out the short sword, and diving to the side right as the second finally

arrived to save his friend, just a tad too late. Kirimadd now gripping what part of the handle jutted out under

his arm, pulls the sword, jumping and using the sword much incorrectly, by stabbing the man through the chest.

Sticking the sword so that it wedges itself right into the vertebrae, and letting go, the horrified bandit

tries to pull the sword from his chest with all of his strength, before falling to his knees, upper body

convulsing badly, looking as if he was going to hurl… before falling to all fours. Pools of blood seep down

into the ground, past the length of the sword, now stuck deeply within his body, coughing up blood like it was

water, before falling down and teetering to one side and falling.
Though, the burly man was long forgotten, though quickly remembered as soon as he approached, grabbing Kirimadd

by the arms, and tugging him back. Struggling, he hears laughter, and lifts his eyes upwards, to see three more

bandits, probably just as large as the man currently holding him, all grinning evilly. Damn! He should have

known there would have been more then the three that where currently there. They obviously had weapons, but saw

no need to draw them sinceimadimadd’s arms where now pressed behind him by big bubba.
“Oi… now ‘old ‘em still Boews…” One of the bandits moving and hitting a chest hard towards Kiri’s midsection,

making his whole body lurch forward. The other two slowly move towards the sword and the pack, searching

through the things.
“Boss! Getta load o’ this!” Holding up the sword. The hilt of this sword seems to almost be basked in a layer

of pure silver, with tough leather wrapped about the hilt to help keep one's grip taunt and tight upon the

claymore. Upon the hilt of said sword rests a small red jewel, with what seems to arvearved two little half

ovals, making it look like a blood red eye. The hand guard piece is just a simple bar that moves out, then

curls upwards, looking almost like teeth. The blade seems to be made of dwarven steel, shining in the sun, from

its recent creation, and rare if ever usage, sharpened to it's master's choice. Reading out loud he says, “In

memory of Redfang and Silverwind. Awww…’ow sweet….”
“Give that back you bloody bastard!”
Chuckling and swinging the sword around like it was a toy… which was easy for the man built like a troll. “Oi…

ya gonna make me?”


“I’m going to kill you if you…”
“Ohhhhh! He’s gonna kill us boss!” Chuckling deeply over the expense of the captured Kirimadd, the boss

responds, “Wot ya gonna do… bite me?”
“… If you wish.”
Whack! With a strong arm brought against the back of Kirimadd’s head to silence him. “Oi, that’s not nice ta

say… ‘pecially ta ya new Mastahs.”
“Oh fu-” Kirimadd is quickly stopped by another strong back-hand to the back of the head, though this time it

was with a hard fist, followed by a hard shove down to the ground. Dust flying from the dirt road from the body

landing, as Kirimadd quickly gets to his feet.
“Get back down ya little pug…” The large one, Boews slams his foot down hard against Kirimadd’s backside.

Though, to the man about twice his size’s surprise, Kirimadd does not go down. Not only would he not go down,

but he would continue to stand up, throwing the man down to the ground.
Sadly, the three bandits in front of him started shaking, the two on either side, and Boews unable to see what

was making them so terrified. Swiftly, Kirimadd’s now blood red arm surges outwards, grabbing the nearest

bandit by the neck, lifting him up off the ground. Head lifting upwards and staring through the tendrils of

silver hair, silver eyes piercing through the bandit’s mind. One simple phrase… “Go to hell…” and a loud crack

snaps the late morning air. A look of fear frozen for eternity upon the man’s face, just as his neck bends at a

right angle, as Kirimadd drops the lifeless body, the bone visibly protruding from the skin. Lifting up his

gaze upwards towards the other two, small columns of smoke emitting from his nostrils…


“H-h-h…” The two bandits look towards each other and sprint off as fast as they could run. Boews by this time

is just getting to a standing position, “Oi, bloody ‘ell… wot? Get back ‘ere!” Staring down the backside of

Kirimadd, he attempts another punch towards the back of the silvery head. The key word is attempt. Ducking, and

twisting around, before punching his own fist hard against the brute’s stomach… or rather the brick wall that

was his stomach. Chuckling deeply, “Ya weakl’n,” before throwing a punch strait for Kirimadd’s jaw, turning his

entire body almost, as he ends up flipping over and hitting the ground hard.


Kirimadd just lies there for a moment, seemingly almost unconscious, as the burly hulk moves upon the prone

man. Thus as he approaches, the man’s skin slowly turns to an almost rotting colour of black, face distorting

as it extends into a long draconic snout, scales looking like acid burned land, as even horns slowly stretch

from the skull… loud ripping can be heard as the back of the shirt splits down into two slits, as sickly wings

stretch from the backside. Kneeling down and thumping Kirimadd across the back of the head to make sure he

stays out. The back of the pants bulge, before ripping as what seems to be black armour plated tail snakes its

way out, even the bare feet slowly disfigure into digigrade-type legs of black decent, cruel claws forming out

the fingers and toes. Grinning an evil smile, the voice now deepened further then that of any human d
d

speak. “Oi… ya’ll make a good slave…” before making no mistakes, and slapping fore-arm cuffs onto the

unconscious Kirimadd.