As the tide rolled in and out, it wisped the blood off Harald's armor. Drawing it back towards Mortis, from whence it came. Another successful raid coming to an end. Anumun seemed more serene and easy on the eyes after an expedition to the land of death. Harald took a fleeting moment to breathe deep and feel the breeze on his face.
“Lord Harald, some of the men’s wounds may be fatal, our medical skills may fall short. We may not reach Mitica in time, perhaps with Splintershards” Lord Harald interrupts Trygve “Not another word about Splintershards, understand? They will not be a crutch.” A strong wind blows from the west, causing Trygve to shield his face with his arm. “I may be able to save you the trip.” chimed in an elderly woman, now standing mere feet behind Harald, he flinched and turned sword drawn. “Are you a healer?” he asked, sword still at the ready. “Indeed, among other things.” Harald sheaths his weapon, exams the old woman’s face for a moment, her grin persists, her gaze doesn't waver. With a nod of his head, Trygve begins to lead the woman to the wounded onshore. The fragrance of flowers in blossom briefly overpowers the smell of the salt water. He peers out to his vessel, anchored in the sea. Watching the silhouettes of his crew against the setting sun, lowering the raids bounty into rafts.
The Bushwhackers are a nomad group, made up of nearly all kinds to be found in the Splinterlands. The one common thread they share is their despise, some would say fear, for magic. Even though the Wizard Council’s rule was long ago, it’s a lesson they refuse to forget. Their desire to rid the world of magic has driven them to covet the very thing they hate. They scour the wilds hoarding Splintershards and dealing their idea of justice wherever they may wander.
Harald with his eyes closed and as still as stone let the heat from the campfire envelop him. The groans and yells of the wounded slowly subsided as the healer made her rounds among them, replaced with the crackling of the firewood. Harald could sense her presence. “Do you have the ungrounding?” The healers voice barely audible replied “No, why would you think that?” His eyes open now, looking at the woman across the campfire, her features exaggerated by the flames light and shadows. “You did not make a sound, nor did I see tracks in the sand leading to where you were behind me.” “I try to leave as little of a footprint as possible I suppose.” She grinned. “I do not wish to interrogate you woman, keep your secrets. What do you want in return for looking after my men?”
“You’ve already paid your dues; it would seem our agendas have common goals.” Harald places his hand on his swords handle “what the hell would you know about my mission.” Keeping his voice low. “I have seen what you do with the Splintershards. You may not know all the implications of your actions, but they serve a good cause.” Harald now at his feet, towering over the mysterious healer, “Who else knows winch? I will decimate you and everything you love if you touch them!” The woman wipes Harald’s spit from her face, never losing her persistent grin. “I would not dare touch them; they are right where we both want them to be.” A strong wind blows in, the campfire now extinguished darkness falls over camp. The smell of flowers slowly over taken by smoke.