Sun Shrine

[heutimtag]

"And bring our father's swords.The letter had been over 10 pages long, written in a small precise elegant hand, one that Heut is mein Tag knew well. There were three words on his body from that hand, all but one in Mo'i'ro. The one in Common said "honorable." None of them were visible though, instead he wore a very traditional suit, his clothes

Comments

[harrickjaines]

Harrick held his ground as Heut rushed forward, watching his brother's movements, as Tag darted left, then right, bringing his swords together as a sheild even as he was coming up to strike, and Harrick thrust his blade out and down, tilting it as the other blades met it, the metal screaming like a woman as they met - his sword was the same mottled material as Tag's

[heutimtag]

Tag turned slow, looking at the blood that began to seep between Harrick's fingers, then closed his eyes against the sight, hearing the needle tinkle against the ground as his brother cast it aside.

"Poison?" Harrick breathed, and it was raspy, as if he couldn't get enough air. Heut finished his turn, to face him, and brought up his swords again.

"Punctured lung," he replied, then squeezed his eyes shut against the tears that were already spilling down his cheeks. He couldn't stop them, and they made his vision blurry, inconsistant. Harrick let out a dry chuckle, and he could hear the tip of the great sword scrape against the ground, see the sparks come off of it as it swung up into the air. The big man crouched down, hand against the cobblestones, then looked up at Tag and smiled. It was a brilliant grin, full of teeth, and Heut took a step back, holding his breath in, pulling the sleeve of his shirt across his eyes to clear them.

And Harrick was in motion, fast and pounding against the ground, low to the street.

[harrickjaines]

He rushed the man, grabbing Heut as he ducked under the swords, feeling them spin above his back and thud down into him. His brother was off his feet, screaming as he was ground into the hard stone beneath him, thrashing as well as he could, and Harrick could feel a rib crack against steel, shatter as the swords were driven in, and reared back, arms wide, leaving Tag gasping on the ground.

He'd taken both blades with him, they stuck absurdly out of his back like porcupine's quills, and he let out a roar that bounced down the streets, shook the windows, Tag scuttling back away from him, twisting and leaping up to his feet, rubbing bruised ribs. Harrick smiled at seeing two fingers bent wrong, knowing it would affect his brother's hold. IF he could get the blades back.

He reached behind his back, and grabbed a hilt.

[heutimtag]

As Harrick began to pull the blades from him, Tag set his fingers, bent at the waist and gritting his teeth against the pain. He only had to hold out, now, to outlast Harrick. Who didn't seem to be going down easy, even with blood loss and just one corroded lung.

Pulling a strip of fabric off his shirt, he bound the fingers together, pushing them tight as the numbness began to set into the bones. He was angry at himself for twisting them, a rookie mistake that would likely cost him dearly. He was also out both swords now. If Harrick didn't use them, he'd at least keep Tag from touching them for as long as he could. Which meant needles and knives against the great sword.

He was thoroughly fucked, unless he got dirty.