(no subject)
Due to popular demand, I bring you...:
Her gasping and heavy breathing echo out as she tries to run, hobbling and limping as she crashes through the trees. The sounds of shouting behind her only fuel her on, pain twisting her features as she continues through Eversong Woods. The sound of rushing water brings visible relief to her eyes, and she comes across one of the many rocky waterfalls that dot the land. Pressing on, she starts to climb the rocks behind the fall, biting her lip hard to keep her from crying out as bright, sharp pain shoots up her lip. Believing herself to be nestled out of sight, she swallows hard, looking at her leg. Grimacing, she grabs the arrow shaft, and with a cry, rips it from her flesh. A trembling hand covers the oozing wound, and she shuts her eyes, listening.
Altharis had been sent out to inspect the guards at Tranquillien with a small group of soldiers, riding tall and confident on the back of his charger as his footman walked on his flanks. They had nearly made it to the Ghostlands' borders when they'd caught sight of her-- A lone human woman trespassing on elven lands. It was all the reason they needed to begin the pursuit, especially after so many reports of Alliance spies hiding amongst the trees.
He had had to abandon his horse after some time as she led them through some rockier terrain, and had cursed loudly as she managed to evade out of sight after having taken an arrow through the leg. Surely, she'd be easier to find? He had ordered his men to fan out in search for her, he himself taking the most likely route she would go-- The waterfall nearby, where the rocks that built it were pocked with hidden alcoves. His armour rattles as he steps onto the rocks, peering about for any sign of his prey.
Lydia steeled her jaw, slowly pressing herself further back into the alcove as she heard the rattling of armor. Silently praying that the guard was too dumb to check the rocks, she nevertheless reached to pull a dagger from her boot, preparing to be found. The woman, masked and shrouded in tight, black leather, cursed herself for being spotted so early on into her mission. But berating herself would have to come later. Ignoring her throbbing leg, she stays silent, and waits.
The Blood Knight's eyes narrowed as they surveyed the forest from the falls, watching his men search through the trees and bushes. Nothing. His jaw tightens, and with another clank he began to navigate the water-slicked rocks, his muscles keeping him from balking under the weight, though he hopes the leather pads of his gauntlets are enough to keep him from slipping. With one pull up, he comes face to face with the human all curled up, and he grins triumphantly.
Her violet eyes flash furiously before narrowing at the cocky blood elf before her. Think you're so great, you can climb rocks, you walking tin can? Lydia's grip tightens on her dagger, and she darts forward like a viper. The blade comes singing forward, aiming directly for his neck. There isn't much moving room or space between them, so the blow can be avoided if he's quick enough.
And avoid it he does, darting his neck to the side so that the point of her knife does little more than crack against a solid metal plate. He reaches up to grab her arm as it's extended, and potentially wrench her from her hiding place. He spits something in Thalassian, the melodic lilt of the language not hiding his irritation.
She cries out, half in pain from her injured leg being dragged over jagged rock, and half in outraged fury. Quick to think, her other hand makes a grab at his throat. Lydia is now half-dangling out of her hiding spot, the roar of the water before them near deafening as they struggle. Brilliant violet eyes flash with slight worry as she feels herself slip more. They would both fall into the river at this rate!
Altharis makes a choked sort of sound as she grabs hold of him, though his grip doesn't weaken. He tries to heave himself up the rock face with her, hoping that the edge of her cave's ceiling would break her hold on his neck before she could squeeze too tightly. The shouts down below grow louder as his men appear to take notice of the struggle high above the river.
Jerking her hand back with a hiss of pain as it hits the ceiling, she readies herself to strike out again when she hears the shouts of others. Damnit, damnit, damnit! She was trapped, utterly trapped, and she was the only one to blame. Not ready to go without a fight, she takes a hold of the arm Altharis has in his grip, and tries to force the blade for his neck again in a desperate attempt to escape.
He utters a sharp word at the strange manoeuvre that sends his body swinging sideways as one of his feet loses its grip on the rocks. The Blood Knight shouts down to his soldiers, orders perhaps, and they ready their bows and arrows down below. Barely holding on, he barks a single word-- only for the catastrophic to happen. Rambling through the trees, following the scent of fresh blood and fear, stream an alarmingly large number of the undead. They come upon the soldiers in a heartbeat, giving them little to no chance to pull their eyes down from their commander to deal with the more immediate threat.
Altharis's eyes go wide at the bloodbath, and in that moment his only handhold on the rocks slips, sending him tumbling down into the river, hand still clenched around the human's wrist.
Lydia, in her state of pain, panic, worry, and more pain...makes another mistake. She lets the sight of the Scourge take her attention for a moment, watching as they surge from the Dead Scar and rush for Altharis' men. At that direct moment the Blood Elf's grip slips, and her eyes widen as she's jerked. She tries to reach for his wrist, but his weight is far too much...he pulls her along with him, both splashing as they hit the water below. Suffering with a sputter, she immediately takes flights, forcing herself to swim to the opposite shore.
'Move, move move, move, don't stop. He'll turn back for his men, get away, you can do it.'
Return for his men he doesn't, swiping instinctively at Lydia's ankle even as he sputters and tries to keep himself afloat. The mass of undead are going wild, the young elves screaming in agony and horror as the ghouls and other ghastly scourge creatures snap them apart like canned goods.
Lydia doesn't look back. To look back is to pause, to pause is to lose time, to lose time means capture. Gasping for air, she makes it for the shore, reaching up to grab a hold of a slimy, moss-covered rock. With a groan of pain she pulls herself up, trying to climb up before he catches up to her.
Altharis lets out another vicious curse, trying desperately to make it out of the deep river as his armour weighs him down to the waterway's bottom. As he falls under the river's surface, he makes one more mad grab for her ankle, to pull her back into the water's embrace.
Just as she reaches the top he latches on, and her eyes widen momentarily. Slipping, she loses her grip on the wet rocks, and goes tumbling back into the water.
He hugs his arms tightly around the human's small body to try and prevent her from escaping again, eyes darting up to the surface to see the shadows of the macabre dancing above them. The head of a monsterous ghoul appears over them, looking around like a dog after a fox as it dripped blood into the water, the colour spreading like dye. Air bubbles from the elf's mouth just as it pulls back, the shadows with it, and his arms finally let go.
Her initial instinct is to struggle, but she catches him looking up, and she does too. Silently she waits with him as the ghoul looks into the water after them before leaving. Feeling her lungs starting to burn, she finally finds relief when the ghoul leaves and he lets her go. Kicking back up to the surface, she coughs and sputters, sucking in air.
It is some time before the Blood Knight comes up from the river, gasping and clawing at the dirt of the riverbank with considerably less armour on. His face is pressed into the ground, slightly tilted to gasp and heave in sweet, delicious air, not even taking any note of the grisly, bloody scene he has emerged to yet.
Moaning and coughing, she pulls herself to shore, wincing as her leg throbs with agonizing pain. Rolling onto her good side, she blinks at the Blood Elf who went after her before turning to eye the massacre. Grimacing at the gore, she turns away and forces herself to her feet. Lydia hobbles and limps forward, but stumbles and falls. Sucking in a breath of hair, she grabs her wounded leg, shutting her eyes tightly for a moment. Once again she pushes herself up, and tries to move forward, but falls again.
The Blood Elf seems oblivious to the human's feeble attempts to escape as his brightly glowing eyes register the scene before him, and they grow wide as he stares at the blood and bodies of the men who were supposed to accompany him on a simple escort to the Ghostlands. He stands slowly as he surveys the gore, looking to be quite in shock. His gaze lurches to Lydia, who he watches fall repeatedly.
She forces herself up, her back finding a nearby tree. Heaving for air, her violet eyes lock with his green ones. Silently she pulls out a dagger hidden in the underside of arm armor, holding it up for Altharis to see. The woman's eyes flash.
The elf snorts blandly after keeping his eyes locked with hers, though that gaze seems half dead already. He opens his arms up to her-- Go right ahead, it says, and he looks back to the mutilated bodies of his comrades.
"I won't kill you if you let me go," she remarks in perfect Thalassian, her accent so slight that it's barely noticeable. Lydia's voice is soft and liquid, her accent bringing an exotic quality to the language High Elves and Blood Elves share alike.
His ears twitch at the unexpected sound of her Thalassian, his gaze turning back to her. "Bloody damn Alliance spy," he growls deeply, first his head then the rest of his body turning to her. "I should have let you run out of that river to be scourge food."
"Oh well," she replies calmly, grimacing as her leg throbs again. "That's what happens when you try to play hero. Your men wind up sacrificed and you fail to capture one woman."
He bends over and swipes a sword from a fallen soldier in one swift motion, advancing hulkingly on the injured woman. "It's called duty, harlot," he rumbles, before putting on a burst of speed to pin her against the tree, sword ready to deflect her knife blows.
"Then surely you understand why -I- am here?!" Lydia challenges. She's only sitting so there isn't time for her to roll away. Raising her knife, she's able to parry. However, his angle, weight, and superior strength are winning. The blades tremble, her arms shaking from the pessure and recoil. Gritting her teeth, she finds herself pinned against the tree.
"Oh, I understand," he grits through his teeth, "But to the Nether with the Sun if--" He is cut off as there is a ghastly howl in the distance, the sound chilling him to his very bones. His eyes lock on hers, gaze sharp. "Do you know what that sound is?"
Her blood goes cold.
"The Scourge could be coming back," she guesses. "Do you really want to stick around and find out?"
"There is no could," he hisses, and giving a quick look around, he grabs her harshly and tugs her along as he runs into the woods, not giving any notice to any objections or discomfort by his prisoner. "They're bringing their friends to finish the meal." And even then, his face contorts in pain from having to leave the soldiers' bodies there.
Her gasping and heavy breathing echo out as she tries to run, hobbling and limping as she crashes through the trees. The sounds of shouting behind her only fuel her on, pain twisting her features as she continues through Eversong Woods. The sound of rushing water brings visible relief to her eyes, and she comes across one of the many rocky waterfalls that dot the land. Pressing on, she starts to climb the rocks behind the fall, biting her lip hard to keep her from crying out as bright, sharp pain shoots up her lip. Believing herself to be nestled out of sight, she swallows hard, looking at her leg. Grimacing, she grabs the arrow shaft, and with a cry, rips it from her flesh. A trembling hand covers the oozing wound, and she shuts her eyes, listening.
Altharis had been sent out to inspect the guards at Tranquillien with a small group of soldiers, riding tall and confident on the back of his charger as his footman walked on his flanks. They had nearly made it to the Ghostlands' borders when they'd caught sight of her-- A lone human woman trespassing on elven lands. It was all the reason they needed to begin the pursuit, especially after so many reports of Alliance spies hiding amongst the trees.
He had had to abandon his horse after some time as she led them through some rockier terrain, and had cursed loudly as she managed to evade out of sight after having taken an arrow through the leg. Surely, she'd be easier to find? He had ordered his men to fan out in search for her, he himself taking the most likely route she would go-- The waterfall nearby, where the rocks that built it were pocked with hidden alcoves. His armour rattles as he steps onto the rocks, peering about for any sign of his prey.
Lydia steeled her jaw, slowly pressing herself further back into the alcove as she heard the rattling of armor. Silently praying that the guard was too dumb to check the rocks, she nevertheless reached to pull a dagger from her boot, preparing to be found. The woman, masked and shrouded in tight, black leather, cursed herself for being spotted so early on into her mission. But berating herself would have to come later. Ignoring her throbbing leg, she stays silent, and waits.
The Blood Knight's eyes narrowed as they surveyed the forest from the falls, watching his men search through the trees and bushes. Nothing. His jaw tightens, and with another clank he began to navigate the water-slicked rocks, his muscles keeping him from balking under the weight, though he hopes the leather pads of his gauntlets are enough to keep him from slipping. With one pull up, he comes face to face with the human all curled up, and he grins triumphantly.
Her violet eyes flash furiously before narrowing at the cocky blood elf before her. Think you're so great, you can climb rocks, you walking tin can? Lydia's grip tightens on her dagger, and she darts forward like a viper. The blade comes singing forward, aiming directly for his neck. There isn't much moving room or space between them, so the blow can be avoided if he's quick enough.
And avoid it he does, darting his neck to the side so that the point of her knife does little more than crack against a solid metal plate. He reaches up to grab her arm as it's extended, and potentially wrench her from her hiding place. He spits something in Thalassian, the melodic lilt of the language not hiding his irritation.
She cries out, half in pain from her injured leg being dragged over jagged rock, and half in outraged fury. Quick to think, her other hand makes a grab at his throat. Lydia is now half-dangling out of her hiding spot, the roar of the water before them near deafening as they struggle. Brilliant violet eyes flash with slight worry as she feels herself slip more. They would both fall into the river at this rate!
Altharis makes a choked sort of sound as she grabs hold of him, though his grip doesn't weaken. He tries to heave himself up the rock face with her, hoping that the edge of her cave's ceiling would break her hold on his neck before she could squeeze too tightly. The shouts down below grow louder as his men appear to take notice of the struggle high above the river.
Jerking her hand back with a hiss of pain as it hits the ceiling, she readies herself to strike out again when she hears the shouts of others. Damnit, damnit, damnit! She was trapped, utterly trapped, and she was the only one to blame. Not ready to go without a fight, she takes a hold of the arm Altharis has in his grip, and tries to force the blade for his neck again in a desperate attempt to escape.
He utters a sharp word at the strange manoeuvre that sends his body swinging sideways as one of his feet loses its grip on the rocks. The Blood Knight shouts down to his soldiers, orders perhaps, and they ready their bows and arrows down below. Barely holding on, he barks a single word-- only for the catastrophic to happen. Rambling through the trees, following the scent of fresh blood and fear, stream an alarmingly large number of the undead. They come upon the soldiers in a heartbeat, giving them little to no chance to pull their eyes down from their commander to deal with the more immediate threat.
Altharis's eyes go wide at the bloodbath, and in that moment his only handhold on the rocks slips, sending him tumbling down into the river, hand still clenched around the human's wrist.
Lydia, in her state of pain, panic, worry, and more pain...makes another mistake. She lets the sight of the Scourge take her attention for a moment, watching as they surge from the Dead Scar and rush for Altharis' men. At that direct moment the Blood Elf's grip slips, and her eyes widen as she's jerked. She tries to reach for his wrist, but his weight is far too much...he pulls her along with him, both splashing as they hit the water below. Suffering with a sputter, she immediately takes flights, forcing herself to swim to the opposite shore.
'Move, move move, move, don't stop. He'll turn back for his men, get away, you can do it.'
Return for his men he doesn't, swiping instinctively at Lydia's ankle even as he sputters and tries to keep himself afloat. The mass of undead are going wild, the young elves screaming in agony and horror as the ghouls and other ghastly scourge creatures snap them apart like canned goods.
Lydia doesn't look back. To look back is to pause, to pause is to lose time, to lose time means capture. Gasping for air, she makes it for the shore, reaching up to grab a hold of a slimy, moss-covered rock. With a groan of pain she pulls herself up, trying to climb up before he catches up to her.
Altharis lets out another vicious curse, trying desperately to make it out of the deep river as his armour weighs him down to the waterway's bottom. As he falls under the river's surface, he makes one more mad grab for her ankle, to pull her back into the water's embrace.
Just as she reaches the top he latches on, and her eyes widen momentarily. Slipping, she loses her grip on the wet rocks, and goes tumbling back into the water.
He hugs his arms tightly around the human's small body to try and prevent her from escaping again, eyes darting up to the surface to see the shadows of the macabre dancing above them. The head of a monsterous ghoul appears over them, looking around like a dog after a fox as it dripped blood into the water, the colour spreading like dye. Air bubbles from the elf's mouth just as it pulls back, the shadows with it, and his arms finally let go.
Her initial instinct is to struggle, but she catches him looking up, and she does too. Silently she waits with him as the ghoul looks into the water after them before leaving. Feeling her lungs starting to burn, she finally finds relief when the ghoul leaves and he lets her go. Kicking back up to the surface, she coughs and sputters, sucking in air.
It is some time before the Blood Knight comes up from the river, gasping and clawing at the dirt of the riverbank with considerably less armour on. His face is pressed into the ground, slightly tilted to gasp and heave in sweet, delicious air, not even taking any note of the grisly, bloody scene he has emerged to yet.
Moaning and coughing, she pulls herself to shore, wincing as her leg throbs with agonizing pain. Rolling onto her good side, she blinks at the Blood Elf who went after her before turning to eye the massacre. Grimacing at the gore, she turns away and forces herself to her feet. Lydia hobbles and limps forward, but stumbles and falls. Sucking in a breath of hair, she grabs her wounded leg, shutting her eyes tightly for a moment. Once again she pushes herself up, and tries to move forward, but falls again.
The Blood Elf seems oblivious to the human's feeble attempts to escape as his brightly glowing eyes register the scene before him, and they grow wide as he stares at the blood and bodies of the men who were supposed to accompany him on a simple escort to the Ghostlands. He stands slowly as he surveys the gore, looking to be quite in shock. His gaze lurches to Lydia, who he watches fall repeatedly.
She forces herself up, her back finding a nearby tree. Heaving for air, her violet eyes lock with his green ones. Silently she pulls out a dagger hidden in the underside of arm armor, holding it up for Altharis to see. The woman's eyes flash.
The elf snorts blandly after keeping his eyes locked with hers, though that gaze seems half dead already. He opens his arms up to her-- Go right ahead, it says, and he looks back to the mutilated bodies of his comrades.
"I won't kill you if you let me go," she remarks in perfect Thalassian, her accent so slight that it's barely noticeable. Lydia's voice is soft and liquid, her accent bringing an exotic quality to the language High Elves and Blood Elves share alike.
His ears twitch at the unexpected sound of her Thalassian, his gaze turning back to her. "Bloody damn Alliance spy," he growls deeply, first his head then the rest of his body turning to her. "I should have let you run out of that river to be scourge food."
"Oh well," she replies calmly, grimacing as her leg throbs again. "That's what happens when you try to play hero. Your men wind up sacrificed and you fail to capture one woman."
He bends over and swipes a sword from a fallen soldier in one swift motion, advancing hulkingly on the injured woman. "It's called duty, harlot," he rumbles, before putting on a burst of speed to pin her against the tree, sword ready to deflect her knife blows.
"Then surely you understand why -I- am here?!" Lydia challenges. She's only sitting so there isn't time for her to roll away. Raising her knife, she's able to parry. However, his angle, weight, and superior strength are winning. The blades tremble, her arms shaking from the pessure and recoil. Gritting her teeth, she finds herself pinned against the tree.
"Oh, I understand," he grits through his teeth, "But to the Nether with the Sun if--" He is cut off as there is a ghastly howl in the distance, the sound chilling him to his very bones. His eyes lock on hers, gaze sharp. "Do you know what that sound is?"
Her blood goes cold.
"The Scourge could be coming back," she guesses. "Do you really want to stick around and find out?"
"There is no could," he hisses, and giving a quick look around, he grabs her harshly and tugs her along as he runs into the woods, not giving any notice to any objections or discomfort by his prisoner. "They're bringing their friends to finish the meal." And even then, his face contorts in pain from having to leave the soldiers' bodies there.