Weaving - Fight Like Bandits

Cursing his luck, Hobb spun, dodging the axe a third time. He had only been back for a day since his journey with Magnus and he was already fighting again. His foe, a tenacious dwarf, let out a frustrated cry. Most Goliaths were slower than Hobb, and the attacker had little experience fighting someone so large yet light on their feet. The dwarf’s frustration only lasted a moment longer as a whirl of Hobb’s meteor hammer caught the man in the skull. Staving in his helmet and dropping him. Hobb barely had a chance to breathe before the next assailant came out swinging. How many were there? It was hard to tell as the distant Stormwall had blocked out two of the night’s moons. They needed this fight to end, and soon.

Considering it was an ambush, Hobb’s squad was fighting well. Unfortunately, they were a bit slow in their initial reaction and had gotten themselves surrounded. Luckily, his squad were the better fighters. Years of drills meant they were quick to take Hobb’s commands. He’d managed to get their backs to a rock face, too tall and steep to climb. A good tactic, but only until the storm hit. If it did, they’d all be smashed against it like bugs on a window. Friend and foe alike. 

“What the hell was going on?” Hobb wondered. There was no logical reason for this fight, Greatwinds close as they were. 

Hobb dodged another slash on his right, but a slim, spear-wielding human man on his left struck out with a jab. He turned, avoiding a fatal blow, but allowing the spearhead to cut deeply along his side. Hobb felt the blood soak his shirt immediately. He winced, wishing he hadn’t lost his shield earlier in the fray. However, the lack of it left his off-hand free, and he was able to get a hand on the attacker’s weapon, hauling the spear out of the assailant’s hands. Hobb didn’t even bother spinning it. Instead, he brutishly shoved the weapon handle first into the attacker’s eye. The man died screaming. Their enemies became less and less aggressive as Hobb and his squad brutally thinned their numbers.

“Shitty fuckin’ bandits they are! Why aren’t they running?! The storm’s less than an hour out! They keep this up we’re all dead!” Thin Joan cried, a forehead wound forcing him to squint through bloody eyes.

“They ain’t bandits,” Hobb said firmly. Loud enough so the attackers could hear over the clatter of weapons. The incongruously dressed foes didn’t respond, but the look in their eyes told Hobb he was right.

“Whaddya mean?” Thin Joan shouted, annoyed, gesturing at their foes with his axe. It seemed a pointless and strange distinction to make given their situation. To Joan’s credit, the attackers were well disguised. Dirty, sporting furs and stolen armor. But they didn’t fight like bandits. Vagabonds of The Ward hated The Ramshorn, like how fire hates water. It wasn’t uncommon for them to suddenly attack patrols, but not at a time like this. Not when you could hear its roar. The Storm. 

Bandits would often conduct raids a few hours before a storm hit. It was a lowly act, but was not explicitly against Zephyeran customs, attacking in the time before the Greatwinds were close enough to be audible. It was an unconvincing rationalization for criminals to make, but they did it anyway. The tactic granted the element of surprise and a better chance of not being chased off. That time had passed.

Hobb knew a lot about bandits. Not only had he made a career of fighting them, he had once been one. Suffice it to say, Hobb was an expert on banditry. In his thieving days, his gang would have seen a situation like this and tailed it. Possibly even surrendering if unable to escape. When the storm came, bandits sought shelter in whatever dirty hole they used during Greatwinds, knowing the Ramshorn wouldn’t risk chasing them so close to the Surge. These men didn’t know that. It wasn’t that they didn’t understand the danger the storm posed, they were hiding something. Something worth dying for. Hobb wasn’t sure, but he guessed his squad had gotten too close to whatever these men were keeping secret out in these woods. No, they weren’t bandits. They were scouts. Hoss scouts. War was coming.