11 Ymiden Arc 716
Yri learned quite quickly that this period of silence was something sacred to the group. They remained silent until they were out of the compound, out of the city, and hunting for their next quarry. He kept his mouth shut, jaw clenched tight to avoid making any sort of noise. He patted his leather armor, first starting with the chestplate. Its dull brown surface was marred with scratches and dents, but it was in tact and secure. Then his leather greaves, made so that he could move quickly and quietly but could still stop an arrow from going cleanly through his thigh. He chose to keep the helmet tied to his belt, only to don it before they raided a camp. He liked to feel the air on his bald head. He nearly smiled thinking about it.
Then he checked the knives. His krises hung from sheathes, one vertical at his hip and the other horizontal across his lower back. He touched the hilts of both, smiling down at the one he could see as if it were a person. Of everything he'd known in his life, the krises were the only things he knew he could trust. Sure, his fellow slavers had saved him multiple times, but Yri knew that they'd sell him for a handful of corn if it meant that they got more corn, and he'd probably do the same to any of them. Especially the feathered ones...
The Raiders were easily some of the more free in the city, especially for those who weren't Avriel in birth. Humans were tools to the avian overlords, and the Raiders were one of the few places where humans could actually do as they wished. The Avriel knew they were helpful as shock troops, and though it pained him to admit it, Yri knew they had their place in the sky. Sometimes, they provided helpful reconnaissance that he knew they couldn't achieve without the Avriel. Still, he found them abrasive and openly hostile, and found that he would rather let one die than risk his own life to save one.
There is always serenity. Or it's fear, and they're scared shitless. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't scared, but he'd be damned before he admitted it to this group. They could watch each other quiver in fear, and it would be denied the next time they shared a fire. Not that being afraid was wrong, but there was a layer of machismo inherent in doing what they did, especially for those Raiders that were human rather than Avriel. Better to equip yourself with emotional armor as well as physical armor, because those accusing eyes cut deeper than any sword Yri had ever seen.
Finally, the door was opened and bronze sunlight filtered into the small warehouse they kept as their barracks. As if a weight was lifted off their chests collectively, the Raiders gave a WHOOP! and started to rush toward the doors. If the moment before the door had opened had been conservative and restricted, the moment after was the opposite. Unbridled chaos erupted as the Raiders shoved and spit and cursed getting through the door, each trying to be ahead of the other. The game was afoot, and there was no way they'd be left behind while the others got the spoils. They had a running tally, a Slavepool they called it, to see who could capture the most. It was mostly for sport, though sometimes bets were made on it. Yri had participated a few times before, but decided not to cast his name in this time. This time, he wanted to be completely focused.
As he passed by a small human woman with mousy features and crow's eyes, she glanced up at him with a smirk. Her eyes led slowly down his chest and stomach to his groin, where they lingered for a moment. She reached out with a scarred hand and touched just to the left of his manhood, brushing a spot on his leg and causing him pain. He shifted uncomfortably as she grinned, looking back up to his eyes.
"Still hurting, eh? It was just an arrow, little girl." She grinned, but the look he gave her wiped the look right off her face.It was her arrow that had pierced through his leg. Yri grinned slowly, staring her down. She knew that he was messing with her, but it still have her chills to look into his face when he cleared it of an expression. She said he had the blank look of death.
"We can't all shoot our friends." He chuckled. "Or lovers." With that, he left her crouched. He pushed past and checked his blades once more before they set out along the trail. They'd received intel that there was a small camp of humans not far from the city, comprised of strong-looking but young humans. They looked as though they could work mines or quarries, but the Avriel hadn't gotten close enough to see the truth of it. They noticed two were armed, but could not confirm whether more were.
Like they give a damn. He doubted that the Avriel gave them all the information they needed. He knew that they liked to see a show, and they could just wreak havoc from above. Chances are, they were looking for weapons that could take them out of the sky, but not ones that could put Yri and his fellow Raiders in the ground. What were a few lost human Raiders when they nabbed ten or twenty more slaves? Yri spat on the ground and kept walking, following the group's leader, Strenn.
Strenn was a big man, seemingly more so because the leather helmet he wore had a massive plume of horsehair jutting from it. It swayed behind him as he walked, his swagger causing it to move much more than necessary. Strenn had mastered using that hair as a weapon, using it to distract opponents so they didn't see his handaxe coming. It was a brilliant strategy, and one that Yri, who had no hair, admired greatly. Perhaps one day he'd get an ostentatious helmet and lead a group of slavers.
Hah! Wouldn't that be something...?" He grinned as the group finally fell into a normal rhythm, falling in somewhere in the middle of the group. His scabbards swung lightly as they trudged towards the camp, the setting sun directly in their eyes. It was going to be a short trip, he hoped. He would very much like a little vacation, where all he had to worry about was eating, sleeping, and making love. Soon.
Definitely a 5-worthy effort.