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He was running. He didn't remember how long its been, nor has he any idea how far he has gone. He is simply running, his thighs burning, his lungs begging for air. His mouth hangs open, gulping down the cold breeze as it runs past.
He has never been so frightened in his life. The valley was supposed ot be relatively safe along the roads. He was sure of it. There were supposed to be guards on partol, somewhere. Somewhere north. North. Up. He pants as he continues, stumbling every few steps. A pain is wracking his back, the shallow cut now cold.
To think, he was just lying out against a tree after his work. And some crazy woman comes up behind him and tries to cut him to pieces! He doesn't even have tim to grumble, her could hear the steady, quick crumch of gravel under boots behind him. He thinks about himself as an aged man, working long day with the land. Not an adventurer. So why is one coming after him, an unimportant man?
He stumbles, again and again. His feet no longer pound against the road. He, without knowing, has turned to the side, and crashed through the underbrush. The blood flowing down his back has grown cold, and sticks to his shirt, holding it to his skin. He can smell the iron in it, which only draws more speed from his steps. His lungs are starting to feel like they are on fire, now. Both his kidneys hurt. But he can't hear the pounding behind him, anymore. What luck is this!
The older gentleman stops his run, bending over with his hands on his knees. All he cna hear is his panting and his heartbeat. Thud, thud. Thud, thud. Its pounding very hard. He concentrates on this beat, trying to calm down. But its not helping very much. The silence seems more daunting than the pounding behind him, the panting of another's breath. He finally notices how alone he is, how barren the land around him is. There aren't even that many trees. The ground is soaked, wet and muddy from the nearly-constant rain that seems to plauge the valley. His feet are squelching in the mud, as he lifts the weary legs. They feel tight, it is a wonder he ran this far on them. He finally looks up, altohugh it is hard to see. The heat form his breath in the night air is making clouds that cover his vision even worse than his lnog, sweat-wet hair.
He can smell the grasses, freshly grazed from something, or cut. PErhaps trampled, under his feet. He stands straight, still breathing hard. He looks up to the moon, juding the time. Somewhere around the second hour after midnight, by his guess. He groans in his throat. The family won't be happy to not have him back home by tomorrow. But what was he to do? There was a crazy adventurer. Somewhere. Was that a crunch? He spins on his heel, looking around.
But nothing.
He finds nothing at all, except for the grasses, watching him. Not eyes, just plants, growing silently on their own.
He stares into the darkness back the way he came, triyng to judge where the moon might reveal off of some armor, metal, a cart. Something, to tell him his hunter is passing. He sees, nothing, however.
He does feel it, now. Something, along that cut in his back. He doesn't turn, afraid for it to be true. But a scream nearly touches his lips. It is lost, as something long slips up through that cut inside his abdomen. His eyes go wide. He looks up at that moon. So pretty. Pretty. Bright. His chest heaves, but he can't seem to breathe. The air jut doesn't want to move. As the thing twists around, he can feel something snap. His vision goes red at the edges, then white. It hurts. Very badly. He jut can't seem to yell out in pain. There just isn't anything to do it with.
The man closes his eyes, oepning them slowly. He looks back up at the moon, trying to remember exactly where it is. But he can't seem to find it. The night is black, all of the stars are gone. He can feel like he is taking a breath, his body slipping back, finally, against something soft. Something warm. Its comforting. He smiles as he feels it, and even wider as he feel lips touch his ear. They're soft, much better than his wife's. The whisper from them is serene, quiet, peaceful.
"Pol'Shoath will embrace you, in her arms, for the sacrifice you've made."
He nods at this, not able to see who he hears. Not able to really see anything. His nod is cut short, as something else drives into his stomach and twists. This feels worse than anything. Worse than the brand that slipped from his hand one year. Worse than being kicked by a horse. Worse than. Worse than. He can't think of what. But he can't seem to think any more. Words just won't come.
Then all that is left is the darkness.
((Hoping the DMs won't be upset over the kill of an unimportant NPC, that doesn't really have a name or really exists. There just aren't many people who would like their character killed for some RP.))
~EnM
He has never been so frightened in his life. The valley was supposed ot be relatively safe along the roads. He was sure of it. There were supposed to be guards on partol, somewhere. Somewhere north. North. Up. He pants as he continues, stumbling every few steps. A pain is wracking his back, the shallow cut now cold.
To think, he was just lying out against a tree after his work. And some crazy woman comes up behind him and tries to cut him to pieces! He doesn't even have tim to grumble, her could hear the steady, quick crumch of gravel under boots behind him. He thinks about himself as an aged man, working long day with the land. Not an adventurer. So why is one coming after him, an unimportant man?
He stumbles, again and again. His feet no longer pound against the road. He, without knowing, has turned to the side, and crashed through the underbrush. The blood flowing down his back has grown cold, and sticks to his shirt, holding it to his skin. He can smell the iron in it, which only draws more speed from his steps. His lungs are starting to feel like they are on fire, now. Both his kidneys hurt. But he can't hear the pounding behind him, anymore. What luck is this!
The older gentleman stops his run, bending over with his hands on his knees. All he cna hear is his panting and his heartbeat. Thud, thud. Thud, thud. Its pounding very hard. He concentrates on this beat, trying to calm down. But its not helping very much. The silence seems more daunting than the pounding behind him, the panting of another's breath. He finally notices how alone he is, how barren the land around him is. There aren't even that many trees. The ground is soaked, wet and muddy from the nearly-constant rain that seems to plauge the valley. His feet are squelching in the mud, as he lifts the weary legs. They feel tight, it is a wonder he ran this far on them. He finally looks up, altohugh it is hard to see. The heat form his breath in the night air is making clouds that cover his vision even worse than his lnog, sweat-wet hair.
He can smell the grasses, freshly grazed from something, or cut. PErhaps trampled, under his feet. He stands straight, still breathing hard. He looks up to the moon, juding the time. Somewhere around the second hour after midnight, by his guess. He groans in his throat. The family won't be happy to not have him back home by tomorrow. But what was he to do? There was a crazy adventurer. Somewhere. Was that a crunch? He spins on his heel, looking around.
But nothing.
He finds nothing at all, except for the grasses, watching him. Not eyes, just plants, growing silently on their own.
He stares into the darkness back the way he came, triyng to judge where the moon might reveal off of some armor, metal, a cart. Something, to tell him his hunter is passing. He sees, nothing, however.
He does feel it, now. Something, along that cut in his back. He doesn't turn, afraid for it to be true. But a scream nearly touches his lips. It is lost, as something long slips up through that cut inside his abdomen. His eyes go wide. He looks up at that moon. So pretty. Pretty. Bright. His chest heaves, but he can't seem to breathe. The air jut doesn't want to move. As the thing twists around, he can feel something snap. His vision goes red at the edges, then white. It hurts. Very badly. He jut can't seem to yell out in pain. There just isn't anything to do it with.
The man closes his eyes, oepning them slowly. He looks back up at the moon, trying to remember exactly where it is. But he can't seem to find it. The night is black, all of the stars are gone. He can feel like he is taking a breath, his body slipping back, finally, against something soft. Something warm. Its comforting. He smiles as he feels it, and even wider as he feel lips touch his ear. They're soft, much better than his wife's. The whisper from them is serene, quiet, peaceful.
"Pol'Shoath will embrace you, in her arms, for the sacrifice you've made."
He nods at this, not able to see who he hears. Not able to really see anything. His nod is cut short, as something else drives into his stomach and twists. This feels worse than anything. Worse than the brand that slipped from his hand one year. Worse than being kicked by a horse. Worse than. Worse than. He can't think of what. But he can't seem to think any more. Words just won't come.
Then all that is left is the darkness.
((Hoping the DMs won't be upset over the kill of an unimportant NPC, that doesn't really have a name or really exists. There just aren't many people who would like their character killed for some RP.))
~EnM
))
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