Dark Age (enkerzed and mewmint20)

Lowen trudged wearily down the path through the woods, kicking a rock with bitterness as he dwelt upon his latest disappointment. The young mage thought that he had finally found safety at the last village he was at. The people there were certainly far more welcoming than others who would have turned away strangers at an instant, but after what had just happened yesterday, Lowen felt that he should have known better. The moment they decided to string a young girl up at the stake on suspicion of witchcraft, Lowen knew that he had to leave. To think that the entire incident had begun from the girl's lack of pimples at her age. It was beyond absurd!

Lowen had left with nothing but the travel stained shirt on his back, his threadbare trousers and the worn down boots on his feet. He had no hat to protect his bare head from the sun except for his thick mop of brown hair, but the nearby trees provided plenty of shade. Travelling through the woods alone might have been dangerous due to the presence of wild animals and bandits, but it was far safer now than trying to live amongst other people, especially with the Church of Holy Light spreading its fear of 'dark sorcery', blaming all the world's problems on those with the ability to use magic. Burn them at the stake, that was their solution, and in almost no time at all, the most gifted, wise and legendary masters of magic at the time had all been turned upon by the very people they strove to help.

Jared the Sun Fire, stabbed in his sleep. Gwendolin the Healer, hanged by a lynch mob. Leo the Sea Tamer, bound, stoned and burned in his home town. Every book, every scroll, every item that had anything to do with magic whatsoever had all been burned as well and so the accumulated knowledge of centuries had been incinerated within the span of a few years. The few mages that attempted to defend themselves only seemed to make the whole situation worse and now, as far as Lowen knew, he could have been the last mage in the country, if not the world.

He had only just discovered his abilities before the fear of magic became so widespread, and thus he was never recognized as an apprentice since he never took a master. He sat down now behind a tree to rest, examining the scar on the back of his hand. It looked no different from any other scar, but it was his first evidence of magic. The cut had been so deep that there seemed to be no way to stop the bleeding, until he willed it to close and, much to his amazement, it did. In better times, he might have sought the tutelage of Gwendolin the Healer, but she was dead now, like all the other Great Masters.

After a few minutes of peaceful quiet, Lowen could faintly hear a noise that was different from the rustling of leaves and chirping of birds. He stood up and crept furtively through the woods, his wide green eyes alert for movement. The closer he approached the source of the sound, the clearer it became that there was danger about. Wordless shouting, steel clashing against steel, there was a fight in progress and Lowen had no desire to get involved. Still, he wanted to see what was happening and against his better judgement, curiosity had triumphed and spurred him on through the woods.

( not as long as yours)

Renegade was what she been called, not that it bothered her most the time, this time though, it had been followed with some rather insulting comments about her gender and how her job wasn’t suited to her. They didn’t know her entire life was set to training, just to fight men like them and protect what she was paid to. Her armor was hot right now, she was only wearing it because she’d ditched her usual clothing nearby, and these men were really getting on her nerves.

When the first man charged her she gave him a chance to leave, a simple reflection, however he kept coming and she realized he wouldn’t stop till one of them was dead. Three against one was no fair fight but nothing she wasn’t use to. Every armor had a weak point it took a few moves to find it and the target was down. One had a kink by his neck, perfect for her to slip the short-sword through and in to his neck drawing his sword from his hands as he fell. Not her weapons of choice but powerful enough to do the job. A few steps more and she had both of them. Right shoulder, down, left knee, neck, down.

Surrounded by their corpses she let her labored breathing be the only thing she heard for a while, taking her helmet off and releasing the black ponytail that was beginning to gather sweat, she threw it down to the ground. Beginning to undo the armor pieces till she stood in the corset and underwear. Stretching up briefly she turned and reached in to a bush pulling out the light leather armor. Slipping on the clothes with an ease of ages of practice. Kicking the metal armor she’d lean against a tree opening the flask.

She chugged the water, that tin-can armor made her sweat and dehydrated her so quickly it was ridiculous. She sprinkled some over her head to cool herself before attaching her pouch and going to head out.

(that's okay)

Lowen watched in silence as the swordswoman quickly dispatched the three bandits, or at least who he assumed to be bandits. She had the look of a mercenary about her, a professional fighter experienced in battle. Before the great purge of magic began, decades of warfare had given rise to an entire generation of soldiers and swordmasters, living and thriving on the constant feuds between kingdoms. Some had even learned to kill before learning to walk.

These trained killers are the real cause of the world's problems, Lowen thought with disdain as he eyed the woman. Even in this time of relative peace, which only meant that there were currently no major battles, there were still bands of mercenaries wandering about, seeking to sell their services. Still, he could not help blushing as he watched the woman undress. It wasn't until then that it occurred to him how unusual it was to see a woman wielding a sword. The thought made Lowen consider what sort of circumstances had led her to carry such a thing.

Despite his naivety, Lowen was well aware that after the fighting men, women were often the first victims of war. In his travels he had seen many towns and villages that had suffered the occupation of soldiers. It did not require much imagination to realize what an entire army of men wanted to do before and after a battle. Whatever indignities they inflicted wherever they went, it was simply ignored and not even magic could have helped with that... and yet it was blamed all the same by villains and victims alike. Even so, Lowen understood that the general perception of women was that they were weak. Perhaps it was only logical that some would wish to prove otherwise. Lowen knew that he certainly did not want to cross the one he had just seen killing three armed men with ease.

Just as the woman donned a new set of leather armour and turned to depart, Lowen noticed a glint in the shade of the woods. A dark figure was creeping up behind a tree with a bow and arrow in hand, with the string already drawn. In a moment of pure instinct, Lowen shouted out a cry of alarm, just as the arrow launched towards the woman's back. Even then however, Lowen realized that it was too late. There was no chance for the swordswoman to evade the arrow.

She heard the yell and turned, realizing whoever it was just saved her life as the arrow struck in to her shoulder blade missing anything vital. She didn’t think twice on throwing the dagger in the direction the arrow had come ignoring the searing pain she snapped the arrow so only 2 inches protruded, if the dagger hadn’t hit only an idiot would have remained. She looked to where the yell had come for. The man there he wasn’t a warrior his stance, everything about him wasn’t a warrior. Yet he had called out to her aide. She walked over to him her strides long and powerful, no faltering even with the pain. Her eyes though showed some falter, some confusion.

“Why?” she originally declared, surely this man didn’t see her as honorable, or perhaps he presumed she needed saving. She didn’t know what to say, she’d always worked alone, thanks were foreign to her. She studied him, he looked like he was running, close up she knew her training was apparent. Each part of her body was covered in compact muscles, so that she appeared petite and delicate but on closer look had more muscle then some men. Eventually it seemed the pain of the arrow in her shoulder got hold of her and she winced.

“Do you have any alcohol?” she looked over her shoulder bracing her body against a tree. Deep breaths and she pulled on the shaft the arrow slipping but the pain causing her to weaken, the fresh blood seeping out. “If not we will both want to move fast, animals smell blood they come.” Not asking for help with the arrow. Since the slaughter of her sister she hadn’t expected any from anyone. She tucked a blue streak of hair behind her left ear, the only clump of hair that wasn’t black on her head and it was beginning to be soaked in the blood. Another swift yank and the arrow was almost out. She hated this part of getting hurt, the removal of projectiles.
=

Lowen stood frozen as the woman looked towards him after snapping the arrow in half. Seeing her approach and hearing her rasping voice, Lowen was afraid that he had caused some kind of offence. The thought was made even more terrifying after witnessing the archer fall dead with the thrown dagger in his heart; another testament to the woman's lethal abilities.

Lowen simply stood there with his mouth agape, not knowing what to say. Then the woman spoke again as she tugged at the broken arrow sprouting from her back, grunting with the effort as though it were a mere nuisance. It made Lowen feel like a child again, fearful for his life whenever addressed by any adult who could have easily taken and sold him into slavery, or whatever it was that kidnappers did.

"I-I'm sorry, I don't... have any alcohol, that is," Lowen stuttered awkwardly, then continued in a way that he realized it might have been too bold immediately after saying it, "What do you mean by we?" He did not know why he said it, but the thought did cross his mind that the woman meant for them to travel together, and that provoked all kinds of alarm. This was one dangerous individual, regardless of gender.

"I, no, I'm sorry," Lowen said hastily. "You're right... um... would you like any help with that?" He pointed at the arrow that was still in the woman's back. It was becoming increasingly evident that she was having trouble with it.

She could see the fear he held and soothed her voice to its usual tone, a gentle one that made it obvious at some point she had held a place in society as more than a warrior. “I won’t hurt you…” She saw his face as that of a child’s with how he had his mouth open, gaping in awe or terror, she wasn’t sure which. She realized how she was not only being rude but perhaps on some levels intimidating. He apologized for a lack of alcohol then seemed to pinpoint on how she had said ‘we’ she smiled slightly “You are travelling are you not? Although from you previous reactions I’m guessing you aren’t very adept in fighting.” Realizing she was getting off topic. “I merely mean we should keep travelling as we were, if you haven’t moved around me form before I’d say you just left a villager not too far that way, can never remember the places name but the next village is due east, less than a day’s travel.”

It had taken some time for her to realize he had offered to help her with the arrow, “its placement is quiet awkward I will admit…” she muttered more to herself. “If you don’t mind helping me, I’d be greatful.” She was a small woman at only 5’3’’ and thus she didn’t bend merely turned her back to him and tilter her head to watch him. “Your tone…” she started uncertain of if she should really be offering. “Do you require assistance getting to your destination? I owe you a favor had you not yelled that arrow would have caused more damage.” Perhaps she shouldn’t have offered, part of her despised admitting she owed him a favor, possibly even her life. Yet she did so the least she could do is be, somewhat truthful.

“Either way I owe you my name, its Kudochi Natsume,” she hadn’t much more to say on the matter, its origin or why she was so lethal, he didn’t need to know of any of that. She didn’t really even care if he accepted her offer for help on his travel, although in some ways she was getting tired of being alone.

"Oh, well my name's Lowen and, uh, well..." Lowen bit his lip as he nervously reached for the broken arrow. Feeling the wet blood leaking from the wound, he immediately wished that he hadn't offered to help. What if I make it worse? he wondered with apprehension. With a deep breath to muster up his courage, he grabbed the arrow and said, "Okay, I'm going to pull now. It's probably going to hurt... I-I mean it probably hurts now but, well, what I mean is that afterwards it's probably going to hurt even more and, uh... I've never done this before."

Lowen loosened his grip on the arrow and was about to let go as his nerve faltered, but as soon as he saw Natsume looking at him over her shoulder, his heart leapt up in his throat a little and he held the broken shaft of the arrow again, as if not daring to let go. "Okay, okay, here I go... here I go now."

Mind over matter, mind over matter, mind over matter, Lowen repeated in his mind as he braced his other hand beside the wound. Somehow, he felt as though pulling the arrow would hurt him more than it would hurt the swordswoman, but he closed his eyes and prepared to do the deed nonetheless.

They were almost of the same height, so Lowen did not have to angle his body or make any other adjustments asides from bracing his feet slightly apart. When he finally felt ready, he opened his eyes to focus on the wound, screwed up his face and his willpower, bared his teeth and put every bit of strength he had into pulling the arrow out of Natsume's back. It felt horribly like he was dragging bits of flesh out with it.

She noticed his hesitation, Lowen, she made a mental note of his name as he rambled on about pulling the arrow out, and it possibly hurting more after he did, to say the least she was not surprised when he told her he had never done it before. Rolling her eyes, she watched him re-embrace the arrow shaft and eventually, after an almost surreal silence, he finally wrenched it free. She sighed in relief ignoring the pain, more relaxed now. She’d take a piece of wrapped up bread, unwrapping it and slinging the wrapping over her shoulder she’d tie it cover the wound as best she could.

“Thank you, as I said, if you require company on your travels…” she didn’t get to finish she heard the sound of horses. Grabbing him by his shirt and diving in to the thickets. Not caring she had just pulled him to her. Keeping low she lifted a finger to her lips to usher him silence. She had her own reasons for hiding and she wasn’t going to let him blow her cover. “Men that call themselves soldiers are the vermin of this land.” She muttered once they were gone emerging out letting him come out on his own.

She began to walk off pausing after a few steps. “So are you coming, Lowen?” if he said no, so be it she wouldn’t insist but standing around was wasting precious hours.