The Shadow Fort, day twelve.

Wind had shorn the sky of clouds, leaving the stars and moon to light the fort. As midnight approached, the wind died, leaving no sound to mask the crunch of footsteps in the snow.

“Are we all here?” asked one man.

Another look at the huddled group of cloaked men and replied, “We have enough. Let us begin.”

The group had gathered outside the keep, and now headed to a section of wall next to the main gate, where the corpses were piled. The cloaked figures had already drawn their swords when the stacked bodies came into view.

“Are you here?” yelled the leader, “Rise and face me, because I have come for you!”

An armored figure stood in front of them. He was tall, and clad in red plate and mail. Whether it was from dye or blood the attackers could not tell.

“No! I have come for you, Yaropolk!” the armored man proclaimed.

He spread his arms and the men with Yaropolk hesitated. Even the stoutest of them had not expected this.

“Silence, you thing! Prepare for your doom!” Yaropolk yelled, raising his sword.

The armored figure smiled. In a flash, his hands swung down and grabbed a crossbow strapped to his side. Before any of Yaropolks companions could react, the armored man aimed and shot.

The bolt flew straight at the chest of Yaropolk, who knew he would be unable to jump out of the way. But the bolt hit another metal surface; the axe head of a halberd had appeared in front of Yaropolk. Another person had emerged from the darkness, wielding a halberd.

And another armored figured took aim with a crossbow and fired. Again this bolt was blocked, this time embedding itself in the back of the man with the halberd. He grunted in pain, but kept a firm grip on his weapon and turned to face the second man attacking Yaropolk.

He was armored in plate, uncloaked, and like his fellow had blood stained armor. He dropped the crossbow and drew a morning star.

“Ignore my target! Deal with the extra!” said Yaropolk to his halberd carrying protector. The man nodded and advanced towards the second crossbowman. The other men with Yaropolk went with him as he stepped towards his nemesis.

Yaropolk’s enemy dropped the crossbow and drew a long sword, chipped from battles ages ago. He smiled and swung at the man to the right of Yaropolk, who jumped back. Yaropolk swept his sword up, deflecting the attack into the air and striking.

His nemesis had already moved, and swung at another of Yaropolk’s comrades, who moved quickly to block and strike in retaliation. Yaropolk was already swinging again as well. The target did not move quickly enough; Yaropolk’s blow struck home, hitting the arm and sundering mail.

He had blocked the blow of another attacker, but now the target yelled and concentrated on Yaropolk, swinging furiously. Yaropolk was barely able to keep from being overwhelmed. His injured limbs strained to swing his sword; so fast it became a blur. The other attackers did not let up, though, and one man landed a solid blow on the nemesis’ shoulder, splitting one of the straps that held up the breastplate.

Nearly roaring with rage, the nemesis relented from attacking Yaropolk and turned to strike one of his comrades. Yaropolk paused, took a breath, and began his own attack. By now his enemy had swung twice at the one who had injured him, one blow glancing off the armor.

All of the sword craft Yaropolk had learned in his life lead to this moment. For many years he had used a sword in defense of his lord, and this was his magnum opus.

The first blow cleaved through mail and flesh to the bone. Yaropolk’s nemesis screamed in pain and stopped going for the killing blow the other attacker, instead blocking his sword and swiftly kicking him in the stomach before turning to duel Yaropolk. The kicked attacker flew back and fell over a stack of bodies.

Yaropolk swung again, and even the speed of his target did not allow him to block the blow, which hit the side of the torso and dented the plate armor. Yaropolk struck even before his target got his sword in place to block the last blow. He was not going to be fooled again, and the sword seemed to appear in place to block Yaropolk’s next strike.

It was a feint, and Yaropolk’s sword changed direction to hit the leg. His nemesis stumbled briefly and struck out at Yaropolk, who pivoted his sword to catch the blade and strike again in the same motion. His attacker continued to backpedal, and tried to strike again. But Yaropolk had already struck a great blow across the chest, cutting through the plate.

Yaropolk’s nemesis gasped in pain, and the fingers around his sword loosened. Yaropolk moved smoothly and drew back his sword for the final blow, to separate the head from the body.

A stone’s throw distant, two warriors fought and struggled over piles of the dead and snow-covered stones. The defender with the halberd rushed at the morning star holding attacker and swung a great sweeping blow. The attacker stood his ground, leaned back and deflected the axe head as it sped towards his neck. The defender was almost startled; only few men could do such a thing. But he kept swinging; all those men had still died.

Again the axe head split the air, and again it was deflected. The next time, the defender struck out with the staff end of the halberd while bringing the axe head around for another blow, forcing the attacker back. This time he did not deflect the halberd, instead dodging back and then jumping towards the defender with great speed to swing his morning star. Though surprised, the defender managed to block the spiked weapon at the last second.

The attacker swung again, and this time the defender could not block it completely, leaving the metal spikes to tear across his side. He grimaced in pain then pushed the attacker back and brought the halberd down with lightning speed. The attacker barely dove out of the way, leaving the axe to crack down on a cobblestone and rend it in two, sending sparks and dust flying. The attacker grinned and made to strike back quickly while the halberd was embedded in the ground.

He was disappointed; the halberd was already back in the air and swinging at him. He had to jump back and guard himself with his morning star to stop the blow from cleaving him in two. The defender swept the halberd around again, but the attacker had backed up considerably.

Stepping forward, the defender readied for another swing. The attacker lunged forward as well, morning star raised. The halberd swung, screaming through the air. The attacker did not move to block or avoid it; instead he leapt up, parallel to the shaft, and spun over it. The defender could barely make out the blur of movement, and the attacker’s morning star had crashed into his shoulder before he had time to comprehend the movement.

He yelled in pain, but kept firm hold of the halberd. It was no use, for the attacker was already swinging at his opposite arm. The blow tore the flesh open and blow flew onto the ground. The defender yelled again, and again the morning star hit him. This blow struck his head, sending him falling to his knees and covering his face with blood.

His attacker stood over him, smiling broadly in triumph, and raised the bloody morning star for one final blow. It struck the defender’s lower face and crushed his jaw. Blood flowed unceasingly. With one last blood muffled groan, the defender perished and toppled to the ground. Only then did Jolt drop the halberd.

Jolt’s killer stood over him, then looked to Yaropolk’s other attacker. The smile faded; Yaropolk was forcing him back, and would soon strike the killing blow.

Yaropolk began the final swing. His nemesis was battered and about to be destroyed. This was going to be that thing’s last moment of existence.

A morning star flew through the air and hit his arm, causing Yaropolk to wince in pain and the blow to miss and bounce off the shoulder plate of his nemesis. The second attacker was running swiftly behind the morning star he had thrown, and tackled on of Yaropolk’s companions into the snow.

Agony flooded into Yaropolk. All the injuries of the last few nights came back to him. Pain flared in his fingers, his shoulder ached, and his legs felt as though made of lead.

His nemesis cried in exultation and swung. The blow was tremendous; it broke his sword and shattered Yaropolk’s armor, sending him flying back into a pile of bodies. He dropped his broken sword and strode towards the body of Yaropolk. Another of Yaropolk’s companions attacked, but the nemesis was out of the way, leaving the sword to swing through space, then was right in front of the swinger, and sent him sliding back through the snow with a shove.

Yaropolk moved; his whole body seemed to be in pain, but his mind focused. He had dropped his long sword, so he began to draw his short sword. The ground seemed to fall away, and he realized his enemy was picking him up by the cuff of his garment. He looked into the face and saw a thin smile, and eyes that threatened to engulf him in madness. Yaropolk plunged his sword into the man’s gut, then withdrew it and made to strike again. The smile vanished and the man snarled at him, baring his teeth.

With an armored hand, his attacker plunged his hand into Yaropolk’s chest and cracked his sternum. Yaropolk cried out in pain as his flesh was torn and ribs cracked, and blood flowed from his chest. The other armored hand loosened its grip and Yaropolk fell onto his back, limbs askew, gasping.

His attacker stepped back, trying not to show the pain of his wounds, and gloated.

“You are undone,” he spoke condescendingly, and then began to glare around for one of Yaropolk’s helpers.

Yaropolk stirred. His fingers tightened around his sword. With great effort he began to get up.

“Prepare…”

He was on his knees now, and still moving upwards. His nemesis seemed to be frozen, not wanting to approach him.

“…to…”

Blood flowed from his mouth as Yaropolk spoke, finally getting to his feet. The attacker had taken a step back, and no longer gloated.

“…die…”

Yaropolk stared at his enemy’s eyes, then took a step forward, still hunched in pain. And another, and another. Finally his attacker began to take out a knife. Yaropolk lunged the last distance and swung, striking the armor and splitting the last strap holding the breastplate up. With a grunt of exertion Yaropolk pushed the attacker against the high stonewall. The attacker had regained his presence of mind and swung his fist to take off Yaropolk’s head. But his injuries weakened him and Yaropolk saw the blow coming, and interrupted it with a strike to his enemy’s face with the pommel of his sword.

Next he stuck the sword into the right lung and held his nemesis’ body against the wall with his left hand. With his right hand he grabbed a small sharpened object from his pocket and raised it far back. With a great yell he plunged it straight into the attacker’s chest, causing an unearthly wail.

Yaropolk jerked the sword out and stepped back, then let the attacker, still wailing, fall. As he did, Yaropolk gave one last grunt and heaved his sword through the neck, slicing the head from the body. The wail stopped and the body hit the snow with a thud.

Yaropolk stood for only a moment longer, then dropped his sword and collapsed, dead.

The second attacker had been close to overwhelming one of Yaropolk’s companions when he heard the wail and stopped. All the companions, seeing their target’s body separated from its head, decided to vacate the area quickly.

Soon, the second attacker was alone in a field of the dead. Slowly, he walked over to Yaropolk’s body. Seeing the first attacker dead, he let out an unearthly cry of rage that echoed through the fort.

Some time later, he bent down to Yaropolk’s bloody corpse. Drawing a dagger, he methodically cut into his chest and pulled out ribs until he reached the heart. This, too, he cut out.



Askthepizzaguy was walking through the snow when a figure approached ahead of him, sword drawn. ATPG drew his own sword and made ready to defend himself. But his attacker stopped and glanced around. No one else was near, so the attacker decided to run. ATPG gave chase, but lost him in the huddle of buildings.



Near the tavern, Beskar was almost to his room. He had decided to make his way through whatever back ways he could, to avoid attackers. He was now in a cramped alleyway. Just as he saw someone appear before him, he slipped. As he fell an arrow flew so close overhead it ruffled his hair. Beskar bumped the wall as he fell, causing a small snow slide from the roof between him and his attacker. Beskar quickly jumped up and ran back the way he came. His attacker swiftly drew a sword and advanced cautiously through the falling snow, but Beskar was far-gone when he got out through the other side.

“Glorious news, good people,” boomed Gerard a little after dawn broke. The five other people in the room with him did not share his good spirits.

“Khaan was a Turk! Which means we’ve killed four – five? – a number of them. And I know how important defeating the Turks’ plan is to all of you.”

“What, indeed, could be more important than knowing the Turks are being thrashed after what has happened recently?” smirked Hans.

“Indeed!” grinned Gerard, “Alas, Atheotes was not a Turk, but only an innocent traveler. Well, maybe not truly innocent, as he seemed to have killed a couple people. But the only out of the ordinary thing in his possession was a donkey in the stables.

“And that leaves us with the final five! What a mad month we had did we not? Anyway, it’s time to vote, so vote for the Turks, or the killers, or whoever peeved you off this morning! That is the glory of democracy! No wonder Greece fared so well.”

This is the day phase, which will last for 26 hours, or until Midnight PST Sunday April 11 night.

Alive:
Beskar
Sasaki Kojiro
Joooray
TinCow
Askthepizzaguy


Lynched:
Kagemusha D2
Secura D3
Ibn-Khaldun D4
Cultured Drizzt Fan D5
Psychonaut D6
Beefy187 D7
Captain Blackadder D8
Yaseikhaan D9
Sigurd D10
White_eyes:D D11


Killed:
Chaotix N2
Seamus Fermanagh N2
A Very Super Market N2
Winston Hughes N3
Centurion1 N3
Diamondeye N4
Thermal Mercury N4
pevergreen N4
Autolycus N5
Seon N5
TheFlax N5
Slashandburn N5
johnhughtom N5
Subotan N6
GeneralHankerchief N6
Myrddraal N6
Scienter N7
Reenk Roink N7
Renata N7
Methos N8
Csargo N8
ACIN N8
spL1tp3r50naL1ty N8
atheotes N9
Yaropolk N11
Jolt N11

Forced to Wander the Snow:
Double A