All around him the camp was in disarray. The bandits were all defeated or worse.
'Thank the twelve, it looks like we've done it.' He thought to himself as he wiped the blood off his gladius.
The few men who were still alive were being harassed by Amaare from a distance while S'demyx made his bloody way towards them. Even the mage had managed to get involved, saving the life of the cat warrior with a well timed protection spell. Although the male would never admit it.Â
Desmond released a breath he was aware he was holding. This was the first time he had coordinated an attack and by the Twelve's guidance, he had been successful and no one was lost.
He started making his way to the central tent. He surmised it was the tent of the leader, who was off somewhere, oblivious of his homelessness. He smiled as the sense of accomplishment hit.
He was still smiling when he opened the tent flap and a gargantuan great-axe cut through the air directly at him. His smile melted away. In a desperate attempt to defend he ducked and brought up his buckler.
'CLANG!'
He couldn't feel his arm. It hung limp at his side. He was sprawled in the dirt.
"Come to my place, will you? I'll show you hospitality." A huge Roegaedyn stalked out of the tent, a wicked looking axe in his hand.Â
Desmond struggled to get to his hands and knees. Fingers frantically searched in his gauntlet for the vile of healing potion S'demyx had given him. He found tiny bits of glass and dampness instead. It had been broken with the impact of the giant's blow.
"I may be dead, boy. But so are you." He said. Taking the final step and raising his axe over his head.
Scrabbling in the dirt he looked for his gladius. It was nowhere to be found.
Looking up at the giant, he realized that even if he did have his sword, it wouldn't matter.
A sense of acceptance washed over him. He would die here.
'It had gone so well.' he thought and bowed his head...
'Thank the twelve, it looks like we've done it.' He thought to himself as he wiped the blood off his gladius.
The few men who were still alive were being harassed by Amaare from a distance while S'demyx made his bloody way towards them. Even the mage had managed to get involved, saving the life of the cat warrior with a well timed protection spell. Although the male would never admit it.Â
Desmond released a breath he was aware he was holding. This was the first time he had coordinated an attack and by the Twelve's guidance, he had been successful and no one was lost.
He started making his way to the central tent. He surmised it was the tent of the leader, who was off somewhere, oblivious of his homelessness. He smiled as the sense of accomplishment hit.
He was still smiling when he opened the tent flap and a gargantuan great-axe cut through the air directly at him. His smile melted away. In a desperate attempt to defend he ducked and brought up his buckler.
'CLANG!'
He couldn't feel his arm. It hung limp at his side. He was sprawled in the dirt.
"Come to my place, will you? I'll show you hospitality." A huge Roegaedyn stalked out of the tent, a wicked looking axe in his hand.Â
Desmond struggled to get to his hands and knees. Fingers frantically searched in his gauntlet for the vile of healing potion S'demyx had given him. He found tiny bits of glass and dampness instead. It had been broken with the impact of the giant's blow.
"I may be dead, boy. But so are you." He said. Taking the final step and raising his axe over his head.
Scrabbling in the dirt he looked for his gladius. It was nowhere to be found.
Looking up at the giant, he realized that even if he did have his sword, it wouldn't matter.
A sense of acceptance washed over him. He would die here.
'It had gone so well.' he thought and bowed his head...
