((From an older Agent arc, but posting it anyway!))
The Paladin's knees hit the sandy rock with a ringing metallic din.
He could feel the thick, sticky warmth of his own blood running down his stomach, past his waist and down his legs. It escaped the openings in his armor, painting red lines on the glittering silver-sigiled plate. Life was leaving him along with it, that much he knew; no amount of healing would spare him the death to come -- not that he could manage in his state. There was no one else to attend to him. They were all dead.
With increasingly blurred vision he looked around at his fallen companions. The Conjurer, whose white robes and hair were now a matted red, face down in the sand. She had shown such promise. The Pugilist, whose shattered limbs appeared to have far too many joints. His neck had been snapped so badly that his head faced the wrong way. The Thaumaturge, who was now but a charred, fleshy smear singed onto tatters of dark cloth. The sand had been burned to glass underneath her remains.
The Paladin grieved for them; long had they been his companions. They had trained together, adventured together...and now they would die together. It seemed fitting to him, but not at all satisfying. A cough interrupted his thoughts, sending agony shredding through his body; a cruel reminder of his grisly wounds. How the enemy had managed to slice so cleanly through his armor, his protective enchantments, and through the lithification of his flesh was lost to him. Perhaps it was the latter of the two that had prevented him from being cleaved cleanly in two.
The wound was deep and seemed unmitigated to the naked eye. From his right shoulder to his left hip he had been slashed; so dire it was that his labored breathing caused the edges of the raw cut to pull apart. Everything below the wound had become red. Numbness began to wash over him, and his vision grew dim. The voices of the two men before him seemed far off, though they stood terrifyingly close.
One was clad in ornate white and gold robes, tall, slender and radiant. He carried an almost effeminate air to him, such was his elegance. Marble white skin nigh glowed, exposed only at his face, neck and the deep dip at the front of his shirt. Pale blue eyes peered from between smooth curtains of straw-colored hair, the most defining features of what appeared to be a pleasant, merciful countenance.
The Paladin knew that it was not so.
His companion more accurately reflected the danger they posed; dressed in fitted black studded leathers, he stood a little less in stature. There was no question of how much more menacing he seemed, however. Athletic in build he stood, with broad shoulders and large thighs. A ragged mop of ebony hair sat upon his head and dropped on either side of abyssal, dark eyes. His expression was indiscernable, owed to the high closed collar of his tunic that reached up to the bridge of his nose.
They were waiting for the Paladin to die and he knew it. To his dismay, he knew he would not disappoint. The feeling was gone from his arms and legs, causing him to topple to the side. It didn't hurt. The time for pain had passed. He kept his eyes on them as long as he could, meeting their gaze with what little defiance he could muster. The one clad in white tilted his head with what looked like cold pity, while the other stared with hungry anticipation.
Death came more suddenly than he had expected; instead of a slow fade into darkness he was snuffed out the moment he decided to glare them down, his pupils dilating as his expression slackened. Ingloriousy he laid amongst his companions, defeated utterly with no song or drink to their name.
"Such a waste," The man in white cooed quietly. He ran a slender finger to the threads of his hair and aimed a bored, half-lidded look at his companion.
"Disappointing," The man in black rasped hoarsely. "I expected better."
"Well," The man in white offered, "We've drawn the right sort of attention, so there'll be more for you to play with soon, Joshua." Gracefully he turned and began walking away, his hips giving an ever-so-slight sway. A coy smile was tossed over his shoulder in beckoning.
Joshua the Black spun on a heel and followed behind in an oddly fluid, silent stride. "I hope so. Playing doesn't have a point if it isn't fun. Isn't that right, Jacob?"
Jacob the White nodded with a pleasant smile. "That's right, Joshua. We'll play more later though. Right now we have work to do."
The Paladin's knees hit the sandy rock with a ringing metallic din.
He could feel the thick, sticky warmth of his own blood running down his stomach, past his waist and down his legs. It escaped the openings in his armor, painting red lines on the glittering silver-sigiled plate. Life was leaving him along with it, that much he knew; no amount of healing would spare him the death to come -- not that he could manage in his state. There was no one else to attend to him. They were all dead.
With increasingly blurred vision he looked around at his fallen companions. The Conjurer, whose white robes and hair were now a matted red, face down in the sand. She had shown such promise. The Pugilist, whose shattered limbs appeared to have far too many joints. His neck had been snapped so badly that his head faced the wrong way. The Thaumaturge, who was now but a charred, fleshy smear singed onto tatters of dark cloth. The sand had been burned to glass underneath her remains.
The Paladin grieved for them; long had they been his companions. They had trained together, adventured together...and now they would die together. It seemed fitting to him, but not at all satisfying. A cough interrupted his thoughts, sending agony shredding through his body; a cruel reminder of his grisly wounds. How the enemy had managed to slice so cleanly through his armor, his protective enchantments, and through the lithification of his flesh was lost to him. Perhaps it was the latter of the two that had prevented him from being cleaved cleanly in two.
The wound was deep and seemed unmitigated to the naked eye. From his right shoulder to his left hip he had been slashed; so dire it was that his labored breathing caused the edges of the raw cut to pull apart. Everything below the wound had become red. Numbness began to wash over him, and his vision grew dim. The voices of the two men before him seemed far off, though they stood terrifyingly close.
One was clad in ornate white and gold robes, tall, slender and radiant. He carried an almost effeminate air to him, such was his elegance. Marble white skin nigh glowed, exposed only at his face, neck and the deep dip at the front of his shirt. Pale blue eyes peered from between smooth curtains of straw-colored hair, the most defining features of what appeared to be a pleasant, merciful countenance.
The Paladin knew that it was not so.
His companion more accurately reflected the danger they posed; dressed in fitted black studded leathers, he stood a little less in stature. There was no question of how much more menacing he seemed, however. Athletic in build he stood, with broad shoulders and large thighs. A ragged mop of ebony hair sat upon his head and dropped on either side of abyssal, dark eyes. His expression was indiscernable, owed to the high closed collar of his tunic that reached up to the bridge of his nose.
They were waiting for the Paladin to die and he knew it. To his dismay, he knew he would not disappoint. The feeling was gone from his arms and legs, causing him to topple to the side. It didn't hurt. The time for pain had passed. He kept his eyes on them as long as he could, meeting their gaze with what little defiance he could muster. The one clad in white tilted his head with what looked like cold pity, while the other stared with hungry anticipation.
Death came more suddenly than he had expected; instead of a slow fade into darkness he was snuffed out the moment he decided to glare them down, his pupils dilating as his expression slackened. Ingloriousy he laid amongst his companions, defeated utterly with no song or drink to their name.
"Such a waste," The man in white cooed quietly. He ran a slender finger to the threads of his hair and aimed a bored, half-lidded look at his companion.
"Disappointing," The man in black rasped hoarsely. "I expected better."
"Well," The man in white offered, "We've drawn the right sort of attention, so there'll be more for you to play with soon, Joshua." Gracefully he turned and began walking away, his hips giving an ever-so-slight sway. A coy smile was tossed over his shoulder in beckoning.
Joshua the Black spun on a heel and followed behind in an oddly fluid, silent stride. "I hope so. Playing doesn't have a point if it isn't fun. Isn't that right, Jacob?"
Jacob the White nodded with a pleasant smile. "That's right, Joshua. We'll play more later though. Right now we have work to do."
![[Image: tumblr_ojgu7zoaag1robwlio1_540.png]](https://68.media.tumblr.com/80be4033cdf57fb6268473ef9ce37db6/tumblr_ojgu7zoaag1robwlio1_540.png)
