“Chirurgeon!†The cry shattered the cacophonous hum of conversation that dwindled to nothing when they heard his cry. Among the lancers and bowmen, there were but a few good men that had the capacity of treating wounds whislt on the battlefield. One of them stood from his kneeling position, after confirming the death of one of the cultists present. The frenzied expression, upon the face of Lanceloix, gave him enough indication that this was of importance. A survivor, in this scene of death, did not have favorable odds, but again he heard Lanceloix's plea of desperation, and felt vigor take bloom with his hurried steps.
Clutching the saturated leather, enveloping her frame, Lance ripped apart the material, exposing the battered, tender flesh, underneath. Hot, dark blood, was yet wet on her breast, running in thick rivulets down the curvature of it. He cared not if she was bared, her life was in his hands, and he could see it slipping twixt his fingers. Sorrow etched lines of worry across his once hardened features whilst the chirurgeon rushed to fall at his side. His hands hovered over Rivienne's chest, where the arrow was. “We have to move her, now," the surgeon whispered, "I can not begin to try and operate on her-- not here.†He applies pressure around the shaft at her breast whilst Lanceloix removes his cloak from his person with haste to place around the area of the wound. The beating of her heart was felt, a trying thing that refused to give up, yet.
“Then we ride with the very wind,†he whispered harshly in returned and gaze a quick look to the image of his fallen mother, and then the remains of a skeletal figure, one with a its empty eyes seeking the ceiling of this wretched cavern. This was now to become their tomb, along with the bodies of those heretic fanatics and their Dravanian brethren. No proper burial would be given to them, and until he could ease his mind, his thoughts would not linger on wicked blood spilled, but the one now soaking his mantle. Into his arms she was raised carefully, as to not move the arrow that claimed her. His eyes roamed her face, how peaceful and tired she appeared, and how death longed to claim her from him.
The jagged mouth, of the cave, did not offer them much light; the clouds of snow shield the moon from spilling forth. Greeted by bitter winds, the destriers and palfrey steeds, were growing restless, not due to the incoming storm that came with a warning in the winds, but the lonesome chocobo facing the cold alone. Chains still remained on his champron and hung from his barding, heavily trailing behind his steps as he neared the band. His cries were swallowed by the gales when those dark eyes caught sight of his fallen companion in the arms of another Elezen. Avenger, one dutiful to Rivienne, did not charge, instead slowly approached as Lanceloix knew immediately of who stood vigilance before them. Avenger, the courser of dark plume, was to be lead away with them.
With her placed before him, secured on the saddle, her body was shielded from the cold with the cloaks offered by his fellow knights. Without warning, he raced into the howling winds, without a helm, without protection on his person. It mattered not to him if he was to fall into illness from the bitter kiss of this everlasting winter. He shared heat with her, he fueled the heat needed for her to survive; in his ears was the tormenting beating of his heart, knowing that perhaps he would not be able to hear her own.. soon.
Clutching the saturated leather, enveloping her frame, Lance ripped apart the material, exposing the battered, tender flesh, underneath. Hot, dark blood, was yet wet on her breast, running in thick rivulets down the curvature of it. He cared not if she was bared, her life was in his hands, and he could see it slipping twixt his fingers. Sorrow etched lines of worry across his once hardened features whilst the chirurgeon rushed to fall at his side. His hands hovered over Rivienne's chest, where the arrow was. “We have to move her, now," the surgeon whispered, "I can not begin to try and operate on her-- not here.†He applies pressure around the shaft at her breast whilst Lanceloix removes his cloak from his person with haste to place around the area of the wound. The beating of her heart was felt, a trying thing that refused to give up, yet.
“Then we ride with the very wind,†he whispered harshly in returned and gaze a quick look to the image of his fallen mother, and then the remains of a skeletal figure, one with a its empty eyes seeking the ceiling of this wretched cavern. This was now to become their tomb, along with the bodies of those heretic fanatics and their Dravanian brethren. No proper burial would be given to them, and until he could ease his mind, his thoughts would not linger on wicked blood spilled, but the one now soaking his mantle. Into his arms she was raised carefully, as to not move the arrow that claimed her. His eyes roamed her face, how peaceful and tired she appeared, and how death longed to claim her from him.
The jagged mouth, of the cave, did not offer them much light; the clouds of snow shield the moon from spilling forth. Greeted by bitter winds, the destriers and palfrey steeds, were growing restless, not due to the incoming storm that came with a warning in the winds, but the lonesome chocobo facing the cold alone. Chains still remained on his champron and hung from his barding, heavily trailing behind his steps as he neared the band. His cries were swallowed by the gales when those dark eyes caught sight of his fallen companion in the arms of another Elezen. Avenger, one dutiful to Rivienne, did not charge, instead slowly approached as Lanceloix knew immediately of who stood vigilance before them. Avenger, the courser of dark plume, was to be lead away with them.
With her placed before him, secured on the saddle, her body was shielded from the cold with the cloaks offered by his fellow knights. Without warning, he raced into the howling winds, without a helm, without protection on his person. It mattered not to him if he was to fall into illness from the bitter kiss of this everlasting winter. He shared heat with her, he fueled the heat needed for her to survive; in his ears was the tormenting beating of his heart, knowing that perhaps he would not be able to hear her own.. soon.
