Wrote up a little something. Put under the cut for length and content.
“They'll kill us this time!”
Svalgaard heard the panicked whispers and closed his eyes a moment to steady himself. His armored coat was still in usable condition and his weapons nice and sharp. The same could certainly be said of the Imperial force outside. But really what were soldiers to a certified dragon slayer? At least those were the thoughts he used to prepare himself for the decision he was about to make. It was the only decision available. He had to protect these people. Letting out a small sigh, he rose from his crouch and moved to the door. Startled whispers and pleas not to go met his senses but he pushed them aside and just gave them all his best smile. The large axe on his back had served him well and the knives and katana at his waist were all nice and sharp. He had faced worse than a detachment from an Imperial cohort and come away fine.
“Just sit tight,” Svalgaard said. “And don't look outside. I'll be back once I'm done.”
He steeled himself, squared his shoulders, and stepped outside into the bright sun. The black-armored soldiers stood where the street opened up into the town square. The tall Xaela pulled the axe from his back as he moved into the middle of the street.
“Just you?” the centurion asked derisively. “Surely you don't think you can take our numbers by yourself.”
“You ever fight a dragon?” Svalgaard asked, voice carrying far as he slowly walked forward. “When you do, you find that numbers end up meaning little against a determined opponent. One man or a hundred, it doesn't matter. Besides, craven types like you who spend their days bullying the helpless don't have what it takes to fight me.”
That did it. Svalgaard saw it in how the centurion's fist clenched. “Fine!” the man spat from beneath his helm. “If you're so determined then you'll learn how deluded you are, you damn savage! Kill the Xaela!”
They charged just like he hoped. Svalgaard grabbed the chain hanging at his waist with his other weapons and hurled the barbed end. With the strength of his arm, it had little problem piercing the armor of one of the frontline Hyur so that Sval could yank him across the empty space to let his neck collide with his gauntlet-protected forearm. The man's throat was crushed under the blow and Sval used the momentum of his forward step to flow into an upward swing of his heavy axe.
The inner beast was rising quickly and Sval could feel that familiar heat in his blood. From the swing that knocked a Roegadyn on his back, he took the axe in both hands and swung it down. The blow split the chest of the fallen soldier open and Sval quickly folded into a short shoulder charge to knock two more soldiers off-balance. Another vicious swing of the axe heralded a fresh outpouring of blood and a red tint creeping into Sval's eyes. The Garleans were not finished and kept coming on and Svalgaard let the beast loose. His foot stomped the ground and he let out a primal cry of battle, eyes going red as he charged forward.
The weighted swing of his charge cut the first man he reached in two at the waist. A change of his grip brought the blade of the axe around again to cleave through another at the shoulder. Blood was soaking into the ground and had splattered Sval's armor. To the Garleans he must have seemed a madman. But despite the feral glow to his eyes, the warrior was quite controlled. The inner beast gave him strength but did not rule him. After felling another soldier, an opportune counter from a broadsword saw the large weapon spinning from Svalgaard's fingers. Not missing a beat, his hands flew to his sides and drew the paired knives, cleanly slicing into two flanking soldiers as they came free.
A whirling body of steel and death was what he became as easily as breathing. The heavy and measured blows of the axe were replaced with the precision strikes of the twin blades. Quick hand gestures and a blast of fire consumed one of the soldiers. The man wailed in agony as he wrenched the helmet from his head along with a good deal of his flesh before crumpling into a heap to bleed. Sval was getting closer to the Centurion and had to hand it to the Garlean soldiers. They were better trained than he thought.
They really piled on him, trying their best to overwhelm him. Blood and gore spilled free as the blade techniques learned from his mother came to the fore. Merciless strikes meant to murder and little else. The blows he did not deflect he simply wove away from before counter-attacking. But the knives were soon removed from his grasp as well as his arms were thrown wide by the well-timed parrying strike. Svalgaard was quick to react and his hands grasped the man's head, tearing the half-helm off before digging his thumbs into his eyes and crushing his skull in a display of his wicked strength.
But he was still not without arms. In a flash of polished steel, the katana was drawn from the sheath. His stance changed as the red light faded from his eyes. The release of the inner beast did not mix well with the swordplay required of his weapon. The Centurion was screaming orders, gunblade in his hand as the few remaining soldiers moved in. A clean strike killed the nearest with a short thrust through his neck. He turned as he withdrew, bringing the blade around to relieve another of his head. Fresh gouts of blood decorated the ground and splattered the Xaela. A bloody and unstoppable sight he made.
The Centurion's hand shook as he pointed his weapon at Svalgaard. With his aim compromised, every pull of the trigger sent the shot wide from his target. When the chamber clicked empty, the Garlean made a wild swing which only got him disarmed with a flourish of the katana. Another flash of the blade split the officer open, spilling blood and viscera as he crumpled. Svalgaard cleaned off the blade and sheathed it. He picked his way through the bodies to where his knives had hit the dirt and plucked them up and back to his belt. And finally he picked up his axe.
A bloody path he had carved through the Garleans. It was almost routine for being out on the front. Yet he held no identifying marks on his person. Nothing to mark him as a member of the Alliance or anything else. That was fine with him. He just wanted to do right by people. He never expected to do something so grand as cutting through several dozen trained Imperial soldiers by himself but he had been a part of crazier things. Aside from possessing the Echo he had little else remarkable about him really.
He was just a man with an exceptional talent for violence. And a want to help people.
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