Post by Requiem on Feb 8, 2015 15:02:25 GMT -5
And now he lay dying.. within the twisting, natural pathways of an elven city. Though the alleyway looked as familiar as many of the others within the elven nation of Kir'Viir, Girard knew not just which one he might have fallen into for such a rough landing. The throb of pain and the warm, wet blackness that stained tunic and trousers, and the shadowy spidersilk worn in the covering layer that had been useful within the winters of Alzorc, but now.. made his condition all the more unpleasant with the mix of slick gore and sweat.
As the Minstrel lay back once more in the debris his eerie greens turned skyward only to watch as that very sky seemed to be torn asunder with all the radiance of the sun above. It was with a budding sense of fear and horror both coiling in his chest that the Black-Blooded Skald pressed his oath-scarred hand to his wound and forced himself to his feet with the other, a pained grunt .. then a scream sounding as he commited his broken form to the action. The swirling blackness of his blade caught his eye in those slow moments of movement. The blade, Velatum he called it, was slowly drawn from the warped wood of the elven building it had been sheathed within.
When he finally came stumbling out of the alley-way it was into chaos he found himself faced with. The elves, old and young alike, were clearly running for their lives. It did not take long for the wounded Minstrel to join the efforts to guide them to safety. It became all the easier with the realization that members of a company familiar to him were aiding the elves of the city just as he did. While he wished to join them and the elves he urged to join them at the swirling portal that would bring them all to safety there was much still to be done.
While others ran away the Minstrel shambled forth, a trail of blackness left with each new step, and with each new spot of black-blood spilled he found less energy to call upon to move and cast. The latter especially he found himself doing a great deal.. the walls of dark he put up to protect the fleeing residents. Again and again the shielding darkness was called up until finally it came no more.
" On your feet, Shadowcaster! "
The shout, the tone the musical words of an elf drew the fading Minstrel's gaze to its source. A black-haired, pale-faced elven male stood above him pulling, forcing him to his feet. At first he thought he was looking upon his own savior, only for pain to pierce his chest and draw his eerie gaze to its source.
A gem-encrusted thin-blade.. the black-haired elf's fingers wrapped tightly around its hilt as it was forced further between ribs and into the heart. It was difficult, truly it was, to force a smile to his handsome visage as the last of his life ebbed out of him.
His life-force proved as slow as ever to leave him as if once again despite all odds he might cheat death. The changing warmth at his back surprised Girard. He thought death would be cold.. only then did he realize that something was wrong, very wrong. He knew it from the look on his killer's face.. one that made his own expression become almost.. full of elation.
" Its not over. "
"Its not over. "
