Roktu [Winter Waylayer]

A huff of cold breath barely visible in the brush, the subtle chilling breeze sways leaves, the cold calmness of winter turns the Northern lands into a different world. The figure half buried in snow lays in wait for his prey, his muscles ache and tensed, he reminds him self to breath and try to relax, the bow in his hands still, the arrow resting against the bow string. In the distance something makes it's way into the clearing, taking slow cautious strides, sound of chains and crunching snow as it moves with a mix of grace and fear. A bruised young beauty, an escaped slave, a price for her capture too good to resist. Her tanned skin gave hint to her home land, some place far from Cimmerian lands, a place where the Sun always rises.

Stopping suddenly the young woman glanced about, a chill running down her back, but not from the sheer cold but from a feeling, one of eyes watching her. Though cautious with each step she lacked the tracking prowess of a hunter leaving an obvious trail any man can follow. The man in the snow slowly pulled back on the bow string, the wood creaking as it was stretched back, the string tightening with the arrow shaft resting upon it. There was a moment of just silence, the young girl breathing hard, puffs of air escaping her bluish lips. A snow owl startling the trees fluttering away, the girl jerking her head toward it's direction, the sound of the bow snapping forward, the zip of the arrow breezing by the girl. The mans objective was not to harm the slave after all, so a clever laid trap was all that was needed. The arrow thudded against a tree cutting away at a rope, a tied weight dropping from the canopy and a net lifting up and entangling the slave.

The tracker stood up from his snow covered position, shaking off the cold, and bow slung. Walking over to the panicked eastern girl struggling in the net.
"You'll fetch a fine reward...course not after I've had me a taste of your Lotus blossom"
A grin drawn across his face like it was carved onto stone, the girl crying softly feeling that the gods have punished her. Though just as the man reached up to touch the young girls body a familiar sound sounded from a distance, the twang of a bow string. Again zipped past the young slave how ever finding a fleshier mark then some tree, the man cried out as he dropped to a knee, both hands held around a bleed wound just under his knee. The white snow now starting to turn crimson, the man looked down to see not a arrow head but a thick bolt used with crossbows. Reaching his hand back to pull an arrow out of his quiver, the motion was cut off as his hand jerked back with a splatter of blood, a bolt lodged in his palm.
"Bastard! What right do you have to attack me?! Where are you?!"

Staring deep into the woods no sign of anyone else was visible, until the attacker allowed himself to be visible. Stepping from the cover of the trees, camouflaged with winter colors was a Cimmerian, crossbow at hand.
"What right? I'd say I 'ave plenty of rights round these parts, though I'd ask you that question mercenary. Nemedia happens to be quite a distance aways from here, and you jus' so happen to be tresspassin on huntin' grounds."

The Nemedian mercenary spat on the ground in insult to the Cimmerian,
"Bah, watch your tongue boy, lest I have it cut from your mouth."
The Cimmerian chuckled, "From the looks of it only thing you'll be cutting off is that leg, odds are that be infected seeing that you smell like ya don't do a whole lotta bathin."
With that the Mercenary drew his blade, ignoring the pain in his leg and hand and charged to the Cimmerian with a battle cry, kicking up snow behind him as he closed in.
"Urrkk..."
His battle charge dead stopped only inches from the Cimmerian, sword held high just above his head, the both looked down. The crossbow held aimed at the Nemedians chest, the bolt had cleared through the front of the Nemedians armor and come out through the back. The Cimmerian shook his head at the man,
"Not quite bright are ya?"
The Nemedians body dropped to the ground, any life still in him poured out through the holes put in him.

The Cimmerian stepped over the body placing another bolt onto his crossbow. Walking over to the netted slave, giving her a poke,
"Still alive in there lass?"
The girl nodded,
"Y-yes."
"Good, can ya cook?"
Again the girl nodded.
"Perfect, you can cook to pay for me taking you to town understand?"
"Yes sir."
"Just call me Roktu, I'm not your Master or Slave driver."
Cutting the net open Roktu helped the girl down and handed her something to cover up with.
"Now we best be off before the wolves come to have themselves some Nemedian dining."

Great to have you, great story, and welcome!