For a long moment, the world around her melted into ebon nothingness and she was left with just the display of death, by her hands, underneath her frame. With mouth agape, the disgraceful death of her mother was a definite eye sore. Her blood covered her hands completely and sank into the leather she wore. She felt nothing at first, simply stared while pushing down on the lifeless arms and slowly standing up. Her knees shudder, threatening to let her fall over, but Rivienne mustered what little energy she had left to take a step back, a few more soon after, until she cleared space betwixt she and the fallen body of her mother. The shuffling had come to a stop around her, bodies had fallen, no longer tethered to the power woven into the dark air. Disheveled tresses were plastered to her face as beads of sweat had peppered her forehead and ran down her temples. Weary eyes turned to the bow that was taken from her, which was piled up with her satchel, turned inside out, and a broken quiver that was dormant next to it.
A story of bloodshed lined the walls and painted the floor, she was certain her own was mingled with that of these heretics. Rivienne felt exhaustion clinging to her appendages, but found strength to move forward, to not turn and look at her mother again. To leave that image behind along with that of Marceloix. But, the scene will haunt her, even now, she could still see his skull tilted as if he was crying out to the heavens, or begging forgiveness. Rivienne wished not to think of it while adrenaline left her body and lethargy took its toll.
What of the dragon, the one that came from the dark, the one that had been walking to them the whole time? He was there yet, stilled after Danielle had fallen, but very much active he was, watching his prey, the one that freed him, now grow weak with each step taken. She had not forgotten about it in her moment of self-awareness. Rivienne was coming to terms with what had taken place, of how her hand was the demise of a woman she loved, respected. A woman she no longer could recognize. A life shrouded in deceit, entwined by lies. It ended with a blade. But that blade was not going to stop the menace that slowly crept closer, jaws divorced as if readying a cry to blow out her eardrums. The huntress gathered her bow, at last, and swept up an arrow that spilled out of the quiver. She turned to the dragon as shadows melted away from its monumental form and it descended upon her.
"Come then," she breathed out the words and gave a broken smile. If this was to be her fate, then let her die with Marceloix's bow in hand. A lover left her, a mother betrayed her, her hands were caked in blood. What she had left was pride in and had no qualms in dying, especially this day. Her brothers were waiting for her. A thought that carried her through desperate moments. She chuckled dryly, remembering that an old friend asked if she sought death, to write her story in blood. She would not deny it now.
Elongated ears burned when an unfamiliar sound came from the opening of the cave, and though she had a hard time distinguishing it from friend or foe, she came to realize that what was coming toward her were not the same men that had kept her hostage. Their armor glittered in what little light fell from them. They hurried in as she glanced past her shoulder, not batting a lash at the huntress as they leap over the dead bodies and head straight to the menace before her.
Their swords were withdrawn, and like the mighty soldiers they were, they began to fight back the dragon that was now giving them an onslaught that would leave a few with serious injuries, if not dead. Rivienne was dumbfounded, for these men were not sent from Haurchefant, he knew not of what was taking place here. These were Carvallain's own. Her deed was done, let these men, full of strength and power, bring down the beast. She had eradicated the source of all his problems. Or so she believed.
"Glory is yours," Rivienne whispered as they marched past her and she reached to take a few arrows in her hands, along with the emptied satchel. Bitterly, she smiled and felt the tears grow hot in the basin of her eyes. The levee within had broken and emotions poured forth to swallow her thoughts whole. She bites back the desire to let out a sob, instead holding it back while pulling the leather strap, of her satchel over her shoulder. Slowly, she straightened herself up and turned to face the light at the end of the cavern. She was to greet it, to be free of here.
Thwack!
Air was pulled from her lungs and she staggered back from the force of the impact. Golden eyes looked forward frantically, catching sight of the two men, the detour to freedom was caused by one of their arrows. A thick arrow made its home above her breast, leaving her in a state of shock for a moment as she came to terms that she was shot. This was no mistake, for these bowmen could have easily targeted the dragon. No sound for mercy, no cry, had fallen from her lips as she tried to find ground underneath her feet. Life stirred in her arms, however, and she notched one of the arrows.
They readied themselves to assault once more when noticing she had not gone down, the wretched woman still was on two legs. It was then that she cried out and lifted her bow, steadying herself as her screams encouraged her to fight back. Her parched throat ached, but it mattered not, she was slowly being numbed by the rancor spreading within.
Carvallain betrayed her, too.
Her arrow is ready and it takes flight as she finds strength to take aim and let it soar to the chest of one of the archers. He staggered back from the impact and dropped his weapon. But, as soon as it is released, she nearly loses footing when another arrow finds its home in her abdomen. It was then that her lips parted to give voice to the painful hiss and she struggled to draw breath. They were wearing her down more than she had been and her body could no longer take any more of the abuse. Poison had laced the arrow's head and the agent's venom was dispersing throughout her core. It was then, that Rivienne, sister to the fallen warrior Marceloix, decided that she was not to leave this world alone.
Rivienne's labored breath were painful and her arm shook as she tried to take aim with the bow. Her legs parted and she swayed while struggling to fill her lungs with air. The arrow is notched, but before she could let it meet its mark, the archer is attacked from behind by another assailant. She did not see the face, for darkness had already began to welcome her into its chilly embrace with each breath. The bow slips from her fingers, and soon, the arrow follows suit. This beaten body shuffles, like the dead had been, backwards against the jagged wall where she was once held. Soon, her legs find that they no longer can hold her upright, and she slides down, unceremoniously, to the ground. Fingers sought the arrows, brushing at the shaft lightly but she could not take a grip.
She could no longer feel it.
Seated there, as her life slips from her, Rivienne turned to the body of her mother, to the remains of her brother and watches the color red spread like a plague, until her eyelids descend and she can no longer hear the music of combat.
A story of bloodshed lined the walls and painted the floor, she was certain her own was mingled with that of these heretics. Rivienne felt exhaustion clinging to her appendages, but found strength to move forward, to not turn and look at her mother again. To leave that image behind along with that of Marceloix. But, the scene will haunt her, even now, she could still see his skull tilted as if he was crying out to the heavens, or begging forgiveness. Rivienne wished not to think of it while adrenaline left her body and lethargy took its toll.
What of the dragon, the one that came from the dark, the one that had been walking to them the whole time? He was there yet, stilled after Danielle had fallen, but very much active he was, watching his prey, the one that freed him, now grow weak with each step taken. She had not forgotten about it in her moment of self-awareness. Rivienne was coming to terms with what had taken place, of how her hand was the demise of a woman she loved, respected. A woman she no longer could recognize. A life shrouded in deceit, entwined by lies. It ended with a blade. But that blade was not going to stop the menace that slowly crept closer, jaws divorced as if readying a cry to blow out her eardrums. The huntress gathered her bow, at last, and swept up an arrow that spilled out of the quiver. She turned to the dragon as shadows melted away from its monumental form and it descended upon her.
"Come then," she breathed out the words and gave a broken smile. If this was to be her fate, then let her die with Marceloix's bow in hand. A lover left her, a mother betrayed her, her hands were caked in blood. What she had left was pride in and had no qualms in dying, especially this day. Her brothers were waiting for her. A thought that carried her through desperate moments. She chuckled dryly, remembering that an old friend asked if she sought death, to write her story in blood. She would not deny it now.
Elongated ears burned when an unfamiliar sound came from the opening of the cave, and though she had a hard time distinguishing it from friend or foe, she came to realize that what was coming toward her were not the same men that had kept her hostage. Their armor glittered in what little light fell from them. They hurried in as she glanced past her shoulder, not batting a lash at the huntress as they leap over the dead bodies and head straight to the menace before her.
Their swords were withdrawn, and like the mighty soldiers they were, they began to fight back the dragon that was now giving them an onslaught that would leave a few with serious injuries, if not dead. Rivienne was dumbfounded, for these men were not sent from Haurchefant, he knew not of what was taking place here. These were Carvallain's own. Her deed was done, let these men, full of strength and power, bring down the beast. She had eradicated the source of all his problems. Or so she believed.
"Glory is yours," Rivienne whispered as they marched past her and she reached to take a few arrows in her hands, along with the emptied satchel. Bitterly, she smiled and felt the tears grow hot in the basin of her eyes. The levee within had broken and emotions poured forth to swallow her thoughts whole. She bites back the desire to let out a sob, instead holding it back while pulling the leather strap, of her satchel over her shoulder. Slowly, she straightened herself up and turned to face the light at the end of the cavern. She was to greet it, to be free of here.
Thwack!
Air was pulled from her lungs and she staggered back from the force of the impact. Golden eyes looked forward frantically, catching sight of the two men, the detour to freedom was caused by one of their arrows. A thick arrow made its home above her breast, leaving her in a state of shock for a moment as she came to terms that she was shot. This was no mistake, for these bowmen could have easily targeted the dragon. No sound for mercy, no cry, had fallen from her lips as she tried to find ground underneath her feet. Life stirred in her arms, however, and she notched one of the arrows.
They readied themselves to assault once more when noticing she had not gone down, the wretched woman still was on two legs. It was then that she cried out and lifted her bow, steadying herself as her screams encouraged her to fight back. Her parched throat ached, but it mattered not, she was slowly being numbed by the rancor spreading within.
Carvallain betrayed her, too.
Her arrow is ready and it takes flight as she finds strength to take aim and let it soar to the chest of one of the archers. He staggered back from the impact and dropped his weapon. But, as soon as it is released, she nearly loses footing when another arrow finds its home in her abdomen. It was then that her lips parted to give voice to the painful hiss and she struggled to draw breath. They were wearing her down more than she had been and her body could no longer take any more of the abuse. Poison had laced the arrow's head and the agent's venom was dispersing throughout her core. It was then, that Rivienne, sister to the fallen warrior Marceloix, decided that she was not to leave this world alone.
Rivienne's labored breath were painful and her arm shook as she tried to take aim with the bow. Her legs parted and she swayed while struggling to fill her lungs with air. The arrow is notched, but before she could let it meet its mark, the archer is attacked from behind by another assailant. She did not see the face, for darkness had already began to welcome her into its chilly embrace with each breath. The bow slips from her fingers, and soon, the arrow follows suit. This beaten body shuffles, like the dead had been, backwards against the jagged wall where she was once held. Soon, her legs find that they no longer can hold her upright, and she slides down, unceremoniously, to the ground. Fingers sought the arrows, brushing at the shaft lightly but she could not take a grip.
She could no longer feel it.
Seated there, as her life slips from her, Rivienne turned to the body of her mother, to the remains of her brother and watches the color red spread like a plague, until her eyelids descend and she can no longer hear the music of combat.
![[Image: jqza5eX.png]](http://i.imgur.com/jqza5eX.png)
“Out of suffering have emerged the strongest souls; the most massive characters are seared with scars.â€
Rivienne Delacroux ♚ Bowmaiden's Tumblr
