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[lawnmowerman 3040]

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15th of Malin's Welcome, 1532.

 

Heavy panting drones throughout the woodland,  and brisk, dense footsteps follow a figure flourished in a blood soaked blue and white striped surcoat, wielding a longsword strainly with a red, right hand.  

 

He vigorously pushes himself through the branches of the tropical foliage, wounded waist barely hindering his goal. Three arrows brush soothingly past his ears, cutting shallowly through the chaperon’s side worn upon his head, concealing the sand-haired locks. He’d slip a rag over his blade, cleaning the gore off it, before sinking it back into it’s adorned sheath.  Calls are heard through the warm jungle, Athirius leans his back against a tree, catching his breath, pressing his palm against the gash upon his stomach’s side.

 

Leaves rustling are heard nearby as the stark knight wipes sweat off the bridge of his nose, a faint five o’ clock shadow looming upon his sharp jawline. His neck swivels slowly to the left, his cold gaze adjusting itself upon a stocky elf, peaking at the decent height of 6’0. A grim expression strikes his bony visage, before he quickly pulls out of his cover, swinging the flat side of his blade against the opponent’s feet, downing him to the tall grassed ground. He lets a grunt flow through his sealed lips, pointing the sword downwards, the tip brushing past the elf’s chin.

 

 

“Why’re you chasing me?”

 

“Fock you, d’hoine.”

 

 

Athirius would unsparingly drive the sword through the elf’s throat, droplets of crimson liquid slipping off the blade. He then races back towards the town where his desolate vessel rests, gathering his crew and sailing back towards the isles of Vailor.

Edited November 9, 2015 by Darth Plagueis (Guck)

[Elad™ 560]

Moved to the Archive. It shall be sorted into the appropriate category shortly.