The wagon's wheels ached and groaned under its weight as they rolled, and occasionally bumped, along the grey, gravel road, pulled forward slowly by a trotting, grey mule. Surrounding the supply wagon treaded six guards, two walking just ahead of the horses, two at the wagon's sides, and two following loosely behind. Six was a measly number for something as valuable as a supply wagon, a number that'd hardly ward off ill-equipped bandits should they be desperate enough. Most of them were. Unfortunately, few men could be spared for the supply routes what with the majority of rebels spread-thin among the Lowlands.
Keeping the rebels supplied was a logistical nightmare, as the rebel army relied on supplies from land routes that ran through the lands of sworn lieges. Alternatively, they would request or requisition, if need be, supplies from whatever locals they were settled nearby. Unfortunately, bandits were a constant threat as many locals that resided in the Lowlands were in a state of desperation, suffering from the requisitions of their Lieges in order to support the rebels, but determined to avoid falling under the rule of a false Monarch puppeted by the Dessuean empire.
Aislin followed from behind, on the right. He wrapped his worn, brown wool cloak tightly around himself, doing his best to ward-off the cold as they trekked under a dark grey sky that threatened to pour upon them. He had little else that could offer him warmth, he wore only his cloak, a basic blue tunic, brown linen pants, a belt and a quality pair of thick leather boots – the only item of clothing, aside from a cloak, that the rebellion offered its troops. Traveling was a daily occurrence for the rebel army which fought mainly with guerilla warfare, and so a decent pair of boots were considered an utmost necessity.
"I'll give you a merk if you let me ride on the wagon Sergeant!" the man directly ahead of Aislin offered loudly, his voice playful. Aislin recalled his name being Finley. He had been a supply route guard for the rebellion long before Aislin had joined, and generally carried a playful demeanor, likely due to both his personality and his appearance. He was a small, spindly middle-aged man with thinning hair and a wide grin.
"Two merks and I'll carry you on my own back", someone retorted from further up front, followed by laughter from the rest of the men. Aislin himself snickered at the remark, listening to the banter carry out as he peered ahead, focusing his gaze onto the man who put up with Findley's nonsense. Sergeant Rory was the only man in the squad who actually captured the appearance of a soldier, he wore chainmail armour, completed with a coif, which was covered by a long tabard that hung to his knees. The tabard itself was dark brown in colour, with a white outline and the crest of his liege in its center, the head of a wildcat facing leftwards. This was the crest of Liege Gilfrey.
"Not long now," Rory said loudly in an attempt to comfort the guard, "Maybe... 10 kilom-" He was cut off by panicked shouting a short distance away in the woodlands to their right, followed by distant sounds of branches cracking underfoot. The guards all stopped to look. The forest was dense, and the poor lighting offered by the grey sky did little to help despite nightfall being hours away. "Bandits?" Aislin asked, breaking the tense silence that hung among the wagon-group. "Right, form up on me! Shields at the fore, and I want arrows nocked!" the Sergeant said loudly in response, although not answering the question directly. Aislin and the rest were quick to act and did as they were told. He himself drew his sword and took his place beside Finley who had taken on a much more serious demeanor. Two men hung further back; their arrows nocked as they waited anxiously.
Dartaius was the first to break out of the forest. Though the shock on his face was immediately noticed by the unit as he saw them, their focus quickly shifted to the massive beast that followed. Dartaius slid on the gravel beneath his feet as he quickly shifted direction, dashing to the right and leaving only the men and the wagon behind them in the path of the bear. He made it a short distance away before he heard orders being shouted by one of the men. "Loose your arrows! Stay behind the shield bearer and avoid the beast's claws!" Dartaius' eyebrows rose as he heard arrows fly. These men were actually going to try and hold their own against the bear? He stopped and turned on his feet to analyze the situation. He watched as arrows connected with the bears flesh, though this achieved little other than further angering it.
The man standing at the forefront of the unit, equipped with a shield and short sword, stood little chance as the bear charged, slamming into him. Fortunately, his shield sustained most of the blunt force but nonetheless, the soldier had been knocked aside and was out of commission. The next was not so fortunate, the soldiers wavered after their shield-bearer was knocked aside, and the bear managed to encompass the head of a spindly man in its jaws. Those who stood by watched in horror as the beast shook its head vigorously. Dartaius grimaced as the small man's body went limp, now lifeless. Dartaius' options were clear: abandon these men to their fates and escape unscathed or assist them and risk the wrath they might incur upon him afterwards.
He drew his sword, a long and old weapon that was hardly of any worth, and quickly made his way towards the back of the creature. Slaying a bear isn't particularly hard when equipped with weapons, the issue comes if you're unfortunate enough to the one who is struck by the bear or in this case, caught between its jaws. Arrows continued to fly through the air but continued to do little aside from irritating the beast. The two swordsmen who stood beside the man who had been cast aside from the jaws of the bear, struck the creature warily with their blades though it seemed their focus laid mainly on keeping it at bay rather than aiming for its vitals out of fear of sharing their comrade's fate. Behind them, the mule pulling the wagon reared out of panic and began its hurried retreat down the road, though that was hardly noticed considering the matter at hand.
Dartaius made his approach from behind the beast rapidly. It managed to knock aside a soldier equipped with chainmail, injuring its paw on his blade in the process but nonetheless it dealt a heavy blow. Seeing an opening, Dartaius pulled his sword back, its tip pointed towards the back of the now-standing creature and thrusted it forward as soon as he was within range, sinking his weapon deep into the back of the bear. He withdrew his sword which was now slick with blood and moved back as he watched the animal bellow in pain. "Shit" he swore loudly as the bear turned its attention towards him, still in a state of rage. It began its charge towards him, slowed only by its bleeding paw but still deadly. Defying his human survival instincts which told him to run, Dartaius waited until the bear came within melee range before he dashed to right, rolling on hard but loose gravel which slid from him as he hurriedly tried to clamber onto his feet.
The bear was already upon him, it reared up and caught his side him with a swipe of its uninjured paw. The blunt force knocked the wind from his body, and he had almost certainly sustained broken ribs. He laid with his face in the dirt before peering upwards. The remaining soldiers renewed their attack, as arrows whistled through the air, the swordsman landed his own strikes on the creature. It had had enough; it had sustained too many wounds and despite its thick blood it was bleeding out.
It stood now on all fours, looking between its attackers with beady eyes as it breathed heavily, whimpering now. The sight was a sore one despite all the damage the creature had incurred, and it continued for a short while. Another arrow struck, calling forth yet another bellow but none of the swordsmen felt the need to strike the beast further. It limped about but made no direct movement towards anyone, it focused its gaze onto Dartaius until finally it laid down on the gravel road now red with fresh blood, and breathed its last breath.
Dartaius pulled himself onto his feet before peering towards the soldiers recovering their wounded and dead. He approached the corpse of the slain bear and cleaned his bloodied sword by wiping it on its fur. After sheathing his weapon, the adventurer squatted beside the beast and placed a hand on its head. A moment of respect passed. Bears were mighty creatures and therefore held a lot of respect within Alriada, which had a fairly militaristic culture. Slaying one was an unfortunate occasion.
After a moment of hesitation, he returned his focus onto the guards who now seemed to be doing the same for their own losses. His gradual approach was met with angry glares. "I'm sorry to bring about such misfortune" he said, disheartened by their aggressive demeanour, "But I can only offer gratitude-" He was disrupted by the notching of arrows now aimed towards him, followed by pointing of swords. "And we offer gratitude of our own," said a man wearing chainmail and a tabard, "For your peaceful surrender."