The blood tasted fresh, though he knew it had dried days ago. The taste had kept him sane, kept him in the moment. Each metallic swallow told him he was still alive, still alive and still in danger. His sword dripped crimson, pooling at his feet as a memento to his his survival. Each ambush, though taking more and more strength to get through, he survived. With each ambush, he moved close to the man who was hunting him. Every muscle in his body screamed for sleep, but he knew that stopping meant death, death he was not ready to accept. The darkness was his ally, it embraced him, keep him alive. If he knew which God had domain over it, he would offer a prayer of thanks. A scuffling of leather over stone and the jingle of chain causes his eyes to narrow. No time for idle thought now, more lambs have come to the slaughter.
The feel of a blade passing through the chest of a person at a high velocity feels much like sticking a branch into a pool of mud. His sword drove through the man before he was able to shout for help. Spinning around the impaled body, he caught the second man solidly on the chin with his elbow, sending him spinning to the ground. Another quick dart to the left, dodging a hasty sword stroke, feeling the sparks from the blade hitting stone strike hotly on his neck, he muttered a quick spell, sending a flash of green flame toward the third attacker, enveloping him, leaving nothing but a smoldering pile of bone and armor. He turned and drove his knee into the face of the man still alive, sending him sprawling to the ground once more. He retrieved his sword from the first man and cleaned the blade on the fallen mans cloak. With a face harsher than the deepest winter, he slowly walked back to where the unconscious man lay, ready to get some answers.
"Wake up".
A kick to the ribs caused the man to stir, his glazed eyes slowly attempting to refocus as he struggled against his bonds/ He watched his captive struggle against the spectral bonds and saw the look of animalistic fear in his wild eyes. A fear intensified by the blood of his friends that was splattered across his face, though not a little bit of it was his as well.
"What's your name?"
He wiped the spit from his cheek and began to speak a spell in a low voice which, once released, caused the man to scream as the skin from around his fingers began to stretch and peel back from the bone. He ended the spell early as he could see that the man was about to pass out again and he didn't have the time to wait until he woke up again. Right now, time was his enemy.
"Name. Now,"
"W-W-William. . . please stop, I don't know anything!"
He squatted next to the writhing man and absently tried to brush the dried blood from his forehead. "I would love to let you go, William, and I will once you tell me who sent you after me."
"I don't know, sir! Honest! We were told to find a man who looks like you through a letter!"
He sighed. This wasn't going to be easy, but then again, it's not like it's been a cake walk so far. "Alright, Will, you're free."
As he walked away from the charred corpse of William the Bandit, he allowed himself a moment to laugh. Freedom can have so many meanings.
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