<span style="text-decoration: underline">OOC:</span><br/>Open.  Long term plans are hazy at best, and Iâ€™m open to pretty well anything.  Long winded, but thatâ€™s what happens when I go too long without Rping I suppose.  Been piecing this together a few sentences at a time for the past couple months.  This and a few others that I might toss up here at some point.<br/><br/><span style="text-decoration: underline">IC:</span><br/>The clash and clatter of swords sounded through the forest, faded and distant sounding amidst the ancient trees.  A lone man, bedecked in full plate and mail armor, wielding a war worn kite shield emblazoned with a rare crest and hand and a half sword, moved boldly amongst his opponents.  Nearby, a long legged and heavily muscled warhorse reared and kicked at any fool enough to draw close, blood dripping from clenched teeth where one had been too slow to avoid itâ€™s powerful bite.<br/><br/>The armored man circled slowly in the center of six Orcs, the green skinned monsters towering over him by a foot and more, brandishing crude, over large swords and axes.  Their armor was the mismatched bits and pieces of successful raiders, many pieces pounded out to fit their bulk.  Three more lay dead in the soft earth of the forest floor, and two others watched the warhorse with petulant rage, as the huge animal had positioned itself between them and their loot, a large sack at the foot of a massive tree.<br/><br/>The Orcs had been raiding from caves near the edge of the ancient forest, attacking villages and farms with impunity.  The local Lord had no interest in risking his few troops dealing with a handful of orcs.  A nuisance at best, but since they hadnâ€™t affected his coffers he had no interest in the problem.  The lone man had a very different opinion on the duties of the Nobility.<br/><br/>He turned slowly, the long blade of his sword dipping and raising dangerously each time one of the Orcs thought of taking a step forwards.  Fierce warriors, certainly, but they never could understand bravery on an individual level.  Strength and courage came with numbers for their kind, and to have one metal clad man stand up to them was mind boggling.  What little minds they had had great trouble processing the situation.<br/><br/>The silence lasted only a handful of seconds before they came to a group decision.  The six orcs rushed as one, to the advantage of the lone warrior.  They would get in each otherâ€™s way, giving him openings that would never exist on an individual level.  And the battle began again.<br/><br/>The first to close, mere steps ahead of itâ€™s fellows, rose an axe on high with the intent of crushing the fool man to the earth in as many pieces as necessary.  His shield came up, expertly angled that the falling axe glanced off the reinforced rim and skinned down the shieldâ€™s face.  They were stronger, certainly, but strength did not always match skill.<br/><br/>The warrior shrugged his shoulder under the weight of the blow and the axe skittered off the shield at an angle, staggering the over extended orc past the warrior to plow into another of the brutes.  His bastard sword came up high to catch the next orcâ€™s weapon, the tip of his blade tangling with the crude, dull blade of an orcâ€™s sword, and using the momentum gained from the first orcâ€™s axe he stepped through the closing ring, his blade twisting with the falling orc sword, hooking into the over exaggerated cross guard and flicking the weapon from the monsterâ€™s awkward hands.<br/><br/>The orcs collided into the space he had occupied seconds before, and the armored man spun on them as they struggled to recover, the long blade of his sword snapping in on the neck of the axe wielder, past the jagged spike of itâ€™s frying pan turned pauldron.  It bit just deep enough to open the artery and score across thick inhuman vertebrae.<br/><br/>Then he was dancing back a few steps, five orcs spinning on him and rushing forwards with great bellows of rage.  Weapons were raised for vicious downwards chops, a favored style for such simple minded and powerful creatures.  The closest found why such stances were poor choices with such unwieldy weapons as itâ€™s stomach opened up, the thick leather jerken and equally thick skin beneath no match for the sharp blade of the warrior.<br/><br/>The nextâ€™s weapon was again deftly turned aside by his raised shield, embedding into the root of one of the trees, and he took the third by surprise.  Instead of backing away, he plowed forwards.  He was smaller then an orc, not nearly as strong, but he was heavy thanks to the plate armour he wore, and he had always had strong legs.<br/><br/>The orc staggered into his lowered shoulder, the wind knocked from itâ€™s lungs from the impact, rolling off his crooked sword arm and armored shoulder to stagger past and trip over a root, and the man was again past the group of now four orcs, who were turning with another bellow of rage as they staggered over their tripped and their dead comrade.<br/><br/>Once more they charged, too lost in their rage to formulate even a basic plan.  The metal man before them was going to die, and they were going to do it by turning him into a gooey paste on the forest floor.  Four orcs rushed him, and he readied to receive them.  Blades clashed as the first came at him, his sword catching and repelling itâ€™s own in a series of blows.  His sword arm was faster, and rather then using brute strength to stop the orcâ€™s own sword, he would deflect and turn aside and follow through with glancing blows, his sword occasionally finding purchase past the crude armor.<br/><br/>The other three tried to circle, not to actually flank but simply to find a place to swing at him from.  And he kept moving, giving ground and leaving his opponent with an ever growing number of small wounds.  An opening came, the orcâ€™s wrist opened up, sword dropped from limp fingers.  He spun, punching the point of his shield into the forward knee of another orc, ripping into itâ€™s thick skin and sending the knee cap dropping to the soft earth.  It fell like a sack of bricks, and he spun further, blade sweeping out wide to force the other three back.<br/><br/>The one whoâ€™s knee he had destroyed received the point of his sword into one beady eye, punching through weaker bone at the eye socket and the bridge of the nose, killing it instantly.  His sword came free with a deft flick of his arm, swinging broadly twice to keep the others at bay, then he took a quick step forwards, sword finding the exposed throat of the orc whoâ€™s hand he had crippled.<br/><br/>That left two for him, and two for Longstep.  The orcsâ€™ confidence had begun to dwindle with their numbers, and the two facing off against him shared a glance, a quick look down at their fallen comrades, and back up to the armored man that had been dispatching them with seemingly total indifference.  Both orcs shifted nervously, twitching as if to run, hoping the other would go first so as to save them the embarrassment.<br/><br/>The warrior gave his sword a quick flick of the wrist, sending a spray of thick green blood to the earth.  The blade half turned, glinting a hint of moonlight from the new clean metal, and began to lift again as if preparing for another round of melee.  Both orcs balked and finally bolted, crashing into the underbrush amidst curses and angry bellowing.  The two facing off against the large horse lasted hardly a second later, realizing they were the only ones left on scene, they too bolted into the night shadowed wilderness.<br/><br/>He stood tall for a few long moments, studying the wilderness for any signs of further trouble.  As the sounds of the orcs faded into silence, and the first of the night sounds of the forest returned, the warrior finally relaxed.  Metal grated on metal as he rolled his shoulders beneath his heavy armor, and he let the shield drop to the earth, leaning it against one of the heavy corpses.  His sword went into itâ€™s scabbard with a quiet whisper of metal on metal, and he reached up to tug the sturdy helmet off.<br/><br/>Sweat slick blond hair, cut more for comfort then fashion was plastered close to his head.  Exhaustion was evident in his stance as he moved towards the warhorse, Longstep, and the sack of looted treasures beyond the massive horse.<span style="font-weight: bold">â€œWell friend.  Our Brothers must wait another night then, eh?  Perhaps for the best.  I had little desire of winding up in an Orc pot.â€</span><br/><br/>The horse snorted in apparent disdain, and he carefully patted itâ€™s head before pulling off his gauntlets.  The leather palms were soaked through with sweat, and he would likely have to spend much of the next day polishing metal and airing out the leathers.  Quite a bother.<span style="font-weight: bold">â€œNo, I doubt they would eat you friend.â€</span><br/><br/>It didnâ€™t take long to get the heavy sack attached to the horseâ€™s saddle, then after recovering his shield the two started walking, the horse following dutifully without any guiding hand as the pair began the long trek back to the villages beyond the forestsâ€™ edge.  A two day return journey with the horse burdened down with the recovered loot.<br/><br/>It was some hours later when he finally set camp, a small clearing bathed in moonlight, thick soft grass and a tiny stream of fresh water.  His armor was removed and neatly set aside, the breastplate left uncinched and ready to be quickly dawned should the need arise.  Longstep was freed of his saddle and harness, and the man sat tiredly on an old slab of stone in naught but his shirtsleeves and padded leggings, bruised feet dipped into the stream.<br/><br/>By scent, he was likely a beacon in the quiet forest.  One does not trek days in full armor without working up a fierce sweat, coupled with the reek of orc from the battle earlier that evening.  Most animals knew enough to stay away.  A lump of dried bread and stale cheese in hand, he ate slowly with the occasional liberal swig of water from a skin at his side, trying to work up some moisture in his mouth around the bland food and seemingly paying little heed to his surroundings.