Fled
Posted: Sun May 04, 2008 12:44 pm
A tall, hulking figure, draped in a travelling cloak with his face obscured by a hood collapsed on the cold, stone floor, lava bubbling around him. The figure, after a few seconds, managed to raise himself to hands and knees, tearing the cloak and hood from his person, and tossing it into the hot mass beside him.
Wolf was covered in a dozen different wounds, his hair hanging lank and wild over his face, his eyes gleaming with a deep red haze, possibly eminating from tiredness. His breath came in short, sharp bursts, sucking at the shallow air around him, a wound to a lung earlier in the day making breathing painful. He tossed a bag containing everything he owned, salvaged from his flight from trollsbane against a stone altar a few metres in front. Gingerly, he staggered upright, before making his way over to the altar, and once again falling forward, the skin of his knees scraped of as they clattered into the stony floor, and he bowed his head, shoulders hunched and hair enveloping his face. He had failed.
A deep, searing pain in his chest, just next to a half-healed, horrific looking scar from ages past, erupted, almost sending him into convulsions. He bit into his hand, holding back the scream, eyes blinded with pain, teeth tearing into the flesh as his chest seemed to be squeezed, twisted, and then ripped open. The pain ended as suddenly as it had begun, and the tall elf fell forward flat on his face, a tear squeezing out of his left eye, before falling with a soft splash onto his bleeding hand. The God was angry with him.
Wolf stayed put for a few seconds, untill he growled, and pushed himself to his feet, shaking his head like a dog. He flexed his damaged hand, grimacing to himself, before giving the altar a short nod. He would carry on, for as long as the God desired him to. After all, what else could he do?
Wolf was covered in a dozen different wounds, his hair hanging lank and wild over his face, his eyes gleaming with a deep red haze, possibly eminating from tiredness. His breath came in short, sharp bursts, sucking at the shallow air around him, a wound to a lung earlier in the day making breathing painful. He tossed a bag containing everything he owned, salvaged from his flight from trollsbane against a stone altar a few metres in front. Gingerly, he staggered upright, before making his way over to the altar, and once again falling forward, the skin of his knees scraped of as they clattered into the stony floor, and he bowed his head, shoulders hunched and hair enveloping his face. He had failed.
A deep, searing pain in his chest, just next to a half-healed, horrific looking scar from ages past, erupted, almost sending him into convulsions. He bit into his hand, holding back the scream, eyes blinded with pain, teeth tearing into the flesh as his chest seemed to be squeezed, twisted, and then ripped open. The pain ended as suddenly as it had begun, and the tall elf fell forward flat on his face, a tear squeezing out of his left eye, before falling with a soft splash onto his bleeding hand. The God was angry with him.
Wolf stayed put for a few seconds, untill he growled, and pushed himself to his feet, shaking his head like a dog. He flexed his damaged hand, grimacing to himself, before giving the altar a short nod. He would carry on, for as long as the God desired him to. After all, what else could he do?