(no subject)
FORGOTTEN HOUR II
"..and this is where your story ends."
andrinor had his arm fully flexed; the arrow looking modren straight in the eye. and yet, something unnerved the assassin.
his victim was smiling.
leaning against the main support beam of the burning tavern, flames licking at his face, was a man in the last moment of his life. andrinor had shot him several times now; the arrows were pointing in every direction.. blood sprayed across the walls and the cieling.
he was smiling. why the hell didn't he stop smiling.
modren didn't give him time to think. he knew there were two ways to end this, and neither one of them was in anybody's favor. but one gave him a chance, so he took it. he threw his body back into the burning pillar, which was enough to splinter it to pieces. out of reflex, andrinor fired his arrow and though it did strike modren, the mercenary had managed to roll enough to the left that it struck him in the shoulder and not the head. it still hurt like hell. that extra arrow still made him look more and more like a tree.
~House+on+fire/$FILE/firehouse.jpg)
the whole world went black in seconds. he knew the roof had given in, but the thundering crash that followed had surprised him even more. he thought it was his skull caving in, but the wet stone against his face told him otherwise: they'd gone through the floor and into the basement. he didn't know where his swords went. he could barely look around. andrinor was already there, punching him in the face. it was like everything was quiet; the world was deaf except for a hard, wet, packing sound..
he tried to dodge the blows, but they kept hammering down no matter where he went. so he tried something different. he threw his head into the next fist that came his way, which gave him enough time to slam his head into the assassin's. andrinor slid across the floor. modren didn't even try to stand up; he just started pulling out arrows and scraping for breath.
the basement was filling with smoke. he heard people screaming outside. he tried hard to remember which direction that was; then his leg was on fire.
andrinor grabbed the two remaining arrows and drove them deeper into modren's leg. he had trouble breathing; he knew modren had broken his nose. why wouldn't this son of a bitch die? after this was over, he'd definitely be renegotiating his contract. he felt the elbow crash against his forehead, but he didn't stop. he felt the thumb digging into his eye, but he didn't stop. andrinor knew he had the bastard this time; crippled in a tavern basement with nowhere to go.
and then the roof caved in again. and he knew he couldn't see.
he had no idea how much time had passed. andrinor slowly pulled himself out of the wreck that used to be the only tavern in Valgard. he spit out pieces of wood. he spit out blood.. his skin torn in many places but he had scratched his way free from the broken timber and cobblestone. as he stood up, and saw the first rays of dawn, he honestly laughed for the first time in his life.
because there, in the rain before him, was a long, dark trail that led into the hills.
"are you okay, Mister?" a little, poor girl asked him, while clutching her stuffed toy bear.
"yeah." and before he stumbled off into the hills, he took that bear, and he ripped its head off.
"..and this is where your story ends."
andrinor had his arm fully flexed; the arrow looking modren straight in the eye. and yet, something unnerved the assassin.
his victim was smiling.
leaning against the main support beam of the burning tavern, flames licking at his face, was a man in the last moment of his life. andrinor had shot him several times now; the arrows were pointing in every direction.. blood sprayed across the walls and the cieling.
he was smiling. why the hell didn't he stop smiling.
modren didn't give him time to think. he knew there were two ways to end this, and neither one of them was in anybody's favor. but one gave him a chance, so he took it. he threw his body back into the burning pillar, which was enough to splinter it to pieces. out of reflex, andrinor fired his arrow and though it did strike modren, the mercenary had managed to roll enough to the left that it struck him in the shoulder and not the head. it still hurt like hell. that extra arrow still made him look more and more like a tree.
the whole world went black in seconds. he knew the roof had given in, but the thundering crash that followed had surprised him even more. he thought it was his skull caving in, but the wet stone against his face told him otherwise: they'd gone through the floor and into the basement. he didn't know where his swords went. he could barely look around. andrinor was already there, punching him in the face. it was like everything was quiet; the world was deaf except for a hard, wet, packing sound..
he tried to dodge the blows, but they kept hammering down no matter where he went. so he tried something different. he threw his head into the next fist that came his way, which gave him enough time to slam his head into the assassin's. andrinor slid across the floor. modren didn't even try to stand up; he just started pulling out arrows and scraping for breath.
the basement was filling with smoke. he heard people screaming outside. he tried hard to remember which direction that was; then his leg was on fire.
andrinor grabbed the two remaining arrows and drove them deeper into modren's leg. he had trouble breathing; he knew modren had broken his nose. why wouldn't this son of a bitch die? after this was over, he'd definitely be renegotiating his contract. he felt the elbow crash against his forehead, but he didn't stop. he felt the thumb digging into his eye, but he didn't stop. andrinor knew he had the bastard this time; crippled in a tavern basement with nowhere to go.
and then the roof caved in again. and he knew he couldn't see.
he had no idea how much time had passed. andrinor slowly pulled himself out of the wreck that used to be the only tavern in Valgard. he spit out pieces of wood. he spit out blood.. his skin torn in many places but he had scratched his way free from the broken timber and cobblestone. as he stood up, and saw the first rays of dawn, he honestly laughed for the first time in his life.
because there, in the rain before him, was a long, dark trail that led into the hills.
"are you okay, Mister?" a little, poor girl asked him, while clutching her stuffed toy bear.
"yeah." and before he stumbled off into the hills, he took that bear, and he ripped its head off.