Painful Interlude

[korwrath]

His sword work was excellent as always. Blades singing their song of death in tune with the thalkin who dares stand in their way. His stark white hair now dappled with red -- blood, not his but theirs. His features were alight with the heady rush of spilling blood, a masters stroke here, a disemboweling cut there. Delight and spectacle this was turning out to be, yes the others were having their share of weapon work or spell casting, but as long as they weren't in the way it mattered little. Arrows began to rain down, like a sudden shower. He payed little mind to such things, so enraptured with the thrill of battle. Something like a fist hit him square in the chest and sent him reeling, swords clanging and clattering on the flagstones and he felt affronted that someone landed a blow.

"The Dread Lord has taken a hit!"

His senses reeled, and he forced himself to focus. Focus damn you focus. He looked down and numbly noted an arrows shaft sticking out straight and true from his chest, it would be laughable if it wasn't so bloody painful. Marshalling his anger and hatred he reaches over and retrieves his swords and staggered to his feet. Bloody-damnable Asur.

The fighting ebbed and flowed around him and just as one wave seemed to be beaten back another one surged forth, glittering swords held in grim mailed fists, meaningless cries on their lips. he cared little for what ever doggerel or oaths they were blurting. It would not be the first time he'd heard such words before, and doubtful it wouldn't be the last. His wound pained him and it nearly cost him his life as a blade arced in past his attack and bit deep into his side. The so-called makers of this armor would pay, provided he survived this. He dropped to a knee, and one sword held out in a warding gesture, though he knew it would be futile, there was a flash of silver and something hot and wet splashed on his face. His foe toppling backwards in a violent spray of his lifes blood. He laughed through red teeth and coughed up some blood. There were calls for aid, but they sounded vague, muffled and distant, darkness was a welcome respite.

______________________________________________
He awoke on a cot, healers and apothecaries moving about tending to more then a few wounded. He was unsure how long he had been out. There was no sounds of distant battle and he knew there was little glory for him now to be had, the Regiment had moved on leaving their wounded to be tended to. He spied a cloaked individual standing sentinel near his cot...

"Vathos." He croaked out of a dry throat and mouth. "What news?"

The figure turned and knelt near him.

"My lord, grave news. The home front has fallen, Yenlui, and your children are dead, butchered by Arkaneth allies. Your estate, castle and lands are razed, servants, slaves and larders... slaughtered like chattle. Riches and power are gone. I am sorry."

A pain deeper and more sharp stabbed his heart from within. Everything in his life that meant something was gone. Servants, slaves and property could always be replaced, but his wife, his beloved wife.. gone now. His children, who would carry on the family legacy, gone.

"You are not alone, sire. You know where you can turn to, what you were before this current assignment. The temple remembers..."

[Senlui]

Great work Tel!

[Skabdriver]

not bad fer da knify ear