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Description
The road to Harralya had been long and difficult, especially so considering the political climate of the kingdom, and so the journey had weighed heavily on Yric. He did his best to stretch in the saddle, but to little avail. His back and shoulders ached and his thighs felt sore. At the very least his horse seemed in high spirits; still, that did little to settle Yric's stomach.

His business in Harralya was strange and something Yric didn't wholly approve of. It was not his choice, however, and so Yric could do nothing but obey. He fumbled slightly with the pendant around his neck, an ornate little thing inlaid with gold and set with a small, sparkling yellow stone. Whenever he was nervous, Yric always started to fumble with the pendant.

As his journey continued, Yric noticed that the road he trotted upon had remained oddly devoid of traffic. Where there had been almost open fields on each side of the road before, trees began to pop up, sparsely at first and then in force. Yric squinted and saw that, in the distance, the trees thickened even further as the road bent into a hilly area. He reined his steed in and stopped, still peering into the distance. A nervous smile spread across his face as Yric reached for his pendant, "A perfect spot for an ambush."

Dismounting, Yric took a deep breath and strode forward as confidently as he could, reins in hand, leading his horse forward. As he drew closer, a few stray noises bounced out from the trees. Yric sincerely hoped he was wrong about the ambush.

As he rounded the bend of the road through the small hills, Yric let loose a heavy sigh, grateful that nothing had happened. It was then that a man stepped out from behind a tree a few yards in front of Yric, all but making him jump. The man was swiftly followed by another from Yric's left, and yet another to his right. The sound of feet being dragged through brush came from behind Yric, and he knew that another man was set in place behind him.

Looking over the men he could see, Yric noticed they were all very scrawny. Their faces were unshaven, their clothes in tatters and the knife one of them held looked incredibly dull. They were likely victims of the war, deserters of some army or men whose lives had been so terribly impacted by the fighting that they were forced into such poor lives.

The man who had appeared first, awkwardly brandishing his dull knife, took a few clumsy steps forward. He spoke hoarsely, "Step away from the horse and we won't hurt you." He was apparently their leader. Yric stared at the man for some time, making the man almost squirm in place. Yric himself resisted the urge to fondle his necklace. Instead, he gave a half-glance to the sword tied to his saddle, a gift given to him after he had completed his training in the order.

The haggard thief followed his gaze and his eyes bulged. Evidently the man hadn't seen the blade. Unable to wait or simply in fear of what Yric might do, the thief called out, "Get him!" The men to his left and right tried to grapple Yric, but their frail bodies made them slow and weak. He easily shook them off.

Yric was suddenly thrust to the ground as the man on the rise behind him tackled him to the hard dirt road. Yric growled and fought the man off, driving an elbow into his ribs and hearing one of the frail things crack. As he struggled to stand, their leader came forward with his dull knife and slashed. Yric made to stop the movement but ws too late, and pain blossomed on his face as a shallow cut emblazoned his cheek. His horse whinnied and bucked, running off into the trees and infuriating Yric.

Blood running down his cheek and his chin, Yric lost all sense of discipline. "Dammit," he swore, "Damn you." The man with the knife had an almost confident grin on his gaunt and sallow face. The brush rustled as the other three peeled themselves from the ground and moved to position themselves back around him.

A hand came up to fondle the pendant as the four men encircled Yric but this time it was not in nervousness. As the hand separated from the stone on the necklace, the air between the two began to crackle. Electricity jumped back and forth from his hand to the stone, rippling and charging the air. The haggard thieves were taken aback, slack-jawed and staring blindly at Yric.

Yric lashed out, waving his hand from left to right, and a net of electricity extended outward and enveloped the two men to his sides. The emaciated leader somehow found the presence of mind to duck the web and scramble away. The man awaiting behind him attacked again, unabashed, and was met by a swift fist to the mouth. As the man hit the dirt, clutching feebly at his broken and bleeding teeth, Yric turned to look at the final bandit. The man had produced a bow from somewhere and had inexpertly notched and arrow. His hands were shaking and his aim was no doubt poor, but Yric didn't doubt his ability to hit at such a close range.

"Put it down," Yric warned. The man shook his head without a sound. "I don't want to hurt you," he continued to try and coerce the man to no avail. The thief was weak and paranoid and too much of a risk, Yric decided. With a swift movement, Yric drew his hand from his opposite hip upward and extended two fingers. A gout of lightning leapt forth and struck the man, burning his bow to cinders. The bandit screamed and fell to the ground in terrible pain, his hands now covered in horrific burns.

Without remorse, Yric stalked off into the trees to find his steed. He muttered as he walked, "In our veins like blood flows lightning. We are the storm and our lives the fury." It wasn't for him to judge those men, but they assaulted him. He had every right to defend himself. Still, there was a thought at the back of his head. Had he gone too far?

Description
The road to Harralya had been long and difficult, especially so considering the political climate of the kingdom, and so the journey had weighed heavily on Yric. He did his best to stretch in the saddle, but to little avail. His back and shoulders ached and his thighs felt sore. At the very least his horse seemed in high spirits; still, that did little to settle Yric's stomach.

His business in Harralya was strange and something Yric didn't wholly approve of. It was not his choice, however, and so Yric could do nothing but obey. He fumbled slightly with the pendant around his neck, an ornate little thing inlaid with gold and set with a small, sparkling yellow stone. Whenever he was nervous, Yric always started to fumble with the pendant.

As his journey continued, Yric noticed that the road he trotted upon had remained oddly devoid of traffic. Where there had been almost open fields on each side of the road before, trees began to pop up, sparsely at first and then in force. Yric squinted and saw that, in the distance, the trees thickened even further as the road bent into a hilly area. He reined his steed in and stopped, still peering into the distance. A nervous smile spread across his face as Yric reached for his pendant, "A perfect spot for an ambush."

Dismounting, Yric took a deep breath and strode forward as confidently as he could, reins in hand, leading his horse forward. As he drew closer, a few stray noises bounced out from the trees. Yric sincerely hoped he was wrong about the ambush.

As he rounded the bend of the road through the small hills, Yric let loose a heavy sigh, grateful that nothing had happened. It was then that a man stepped out from behind a tree a few yards in front of Yric, all but making him jump. The man was swiftly followed by another from Yric's left, and yet another to his right. The sound of feet being dragged through brush came from behind Yric, and he knew that another man was set in place behind him.

Looking over the men he could see, Yric noticed they were all very scrawny. Their faces were unshaven, their clothes in tatters and the knife one of them held looked incredibly dull. They were likely victims of the war, deserters of some army or men whose lives had been so terribly impacted by the fighting that they were forced into such poor lives.

The man who had appeared first, awkwardly brandishing his dull knife, took a few clumsy steps forward. He spoke hoarsely, "Step away from the horse and we won't hurt you." He was apparently their leader. Yric stared at the man for some time, making the man almost squirm in place. Yric himself resisted the urge to fondle his necklace. Instead, he gave a half-glance to the sword tied to his saddle, a gift given to him after he had completed his training in the order.

The haggard thief followed his gaze and his eyes bulged. Evidently the man hadn't seen the blade. Unable to wait or simply in fear of what Yric might do, the thief called out, "Get him!" The men to his left and right tried to grapple Yric, but their frail bodies made them slow and weak. He easily shook them off.

Yric was suddenly thrust to the ground as the man on the rise behind him tackled him to the hard dirt road. Yric growled and fought the man off, driving an elbow into his ribs and hearing one of the frail things crack. As he struggled to stand, their leader came forward with his dull knife and slashed. Yric made to stop the movement but ws too late, and pain blossomed on his face as a shallow cut emblazoned his cheek. His horse whinnied and bucked, running off into the trees and infuriating Yric.

Blood running down his cheek and his chin, Yric lost all sense of discipline. "Dammit," he swore, "Damn you." The man with the knife had an almost confident grin on his gaunt and sallow face. The brush rustled as the other three peeled themselves from the ground and moved to position themselves back around him.

A hand came up to fondle the pendant as the four men encircled Yric but this time it was not in nervousness. As the hand separated from the stone on the necklace, the air between the two began to crackle. Electricity jumped back and forth from his hand to the stone, rippling and charging the air. The haggard thieves were taken aback, slack-jawed and staring blindly at Yric.

Yric lashed out, waving his hand from left to right, and a net of electricity extended outward and enveloped the two men to his sides. The emaciated leader somehow found the presence of mind to duck the web and scramble away. The man awaiting behind him attacked again, unabashed, and was met by a swift fist to the mouth. As the man hit the dirt, clutching feebly at his broken and bleeding teeth, Yric turned to look at the final bandit. The man had produced a bow from somewhere and had inexpertly notched and arrow. His hands were shaking and his aim was no doubt poor, but Yric didn't doubt his ability to hit at such a close range.

"Put it down," Yric warned. The man shook his head without a sound. "I don't want to hurt you," he continued to try and coerce the man to no avail. The thief was weak and paranoid and too much of a risk, Yric decided. With a swift movement, Yric drew his hand from his opposite hip upward and extended two fingers. A gout of lightning leapt forth and struck the man, burning his bow to cinders. The bandit screamed and fell to the ground in terrible pain, his hands now covered in horrific burns.

Without remorse, Yric stalked off into the trees to find his steed. He muttered as he walked, "In our veins like blood flows lightning. We are the storm and our lives the fury." It wasn't for him to judge those men, but they assaulted him. He had every right to defend himself. Still, there was a thought at the back of his head. Had he gone too far?