Administrator
EXP: 10,042, Level: 4
Level completed: 21%,
EXP required for next Level: 3,958
Tyr fell hard on his back, feeling yet again another hot gush of blood, this one streaming down the side of his forehead from where his own blocking sword caught him, sent back down behind the force of his mirrors steel coming down. He just laid there in his own blood and heaved his chest heavily with each crushing breath, wondering how someone nearly half of his height, and a little over a half of his weight, could so easily destroy him. He moved like liquid smoke... a wraith in myrtle green robes blending in the mysterious forest backdrop. He chuckled painfully at the comparison his mind created, but Zegron truly was incredible, and one with the wood. The hardened dwarf offered a gloved hand to hover before his adoptive son, knowing well the spar was over. "Come, Son. It's near evenfall. We have need to return to camp before the sun rests," he pointed out, all the seriousness of a seasoned scout toasted in his musky masculine voice.
Tyr awoke stiff and groaning, large fingers groping at jagged scaring burned across his wide chest from where his sparring partner closed his wounds with the glowing red blade of the dagger kissed by the fire. Blinding pain and blood loss must have finally stole away consciousness before the scalding blade went to work. He was grateful for that much, anyhow. Tyr's weary obsidian eyes tilted left to right, and feeling whispered confirmation of laying flat on his back atop a bed of damp underbrush near a crackling fire surrounded by chiseled gray stone when he shifted. Licking bolts of flames danced hypnotically, splaying their small clearing in a wash of flickering warm yellow and orange light; impatient renegade shadows chasing close behind their brighter foes against surrounding bark and thick brush hushed by the woven branch drip-lines looming overhead.
Much of his life was spent in this lush secretive clearing deep within Concordia, found by Zegron decades ago during a ranging. This was where training and pain was well known to him, and the place where he also found a tiny shred of solace before he met Sareah as a child. Tyr used to close his eyes, fading himself in silence and meditation. Melting away into a spiritual audience with the archaic beings watching silently through kindred roots. He sometimes brought her here, and they both bathed the trees in the clatter of playing daggers and carefree childhood laughter. Hunger provoking emanation of roasted venison turning on a spit pulled him from memories clutch, nearly lifting Tyr from his wounded stupor. But his battered body betrayed him when attempting to find his feet, wrenching him back helpless into a dreamless sleep; knowing full well a life of servitude was chosen for him, but that wasnt going to be his final curtain call.
Last edited by Tyr; 04-24-2020 at 03:00 PM.
