SirBeowulf — Roleplayer Guild

~-~

From the journal of John Cleaver.
A Tentative Alliance

~-~

It hurts. It hurt so much. John stared down at his left leg, now blemished by the sight of a foot long crossbow bolt, digging into his calf. Every time he moved, it jarred against the bone, sending tremors of agony throughout his being. It felt like hours even though he knew it was only a minute before he gathered his thoughts, calming down enough to look around. Through some chance of fate, John’s lantern lay upright, undamaged in any way but blown out, several feet away. His bloody weapon was farther, just out of the edge of his vision in the darkness. 

He sat there silent for a few moments, simply listening in the depths. Grunts of pain and the rattling of bones were heard up the stairs, until they finally stopped and only left behind deep breaths. Then footsteps. The clinking of another lantern. John’s blood ran cold as he listened, his life force oozing even through the painful bolt.

There was then a light, bobbing up and down as it drew closer, descending towards him. His eyes had only just adjusted to the darkness, and he held a hand up to block his eyes, letting out a silent curse as the figure finally came into view. 

It was another man, standing close to his own height. Past the brightness of the lantern, John couldn’t see much. He could see the deadly crossbow that had sent him tumbling down the stairs. Then, there was only a simple question asked from the man with the weapon. 

“Why were yeh followin’ me?”

John opened his mouth to say something, but found his mouth dry and empty. He hadn’t even said a word in the past two weeks, so even just remembering what to say was difficult. His voice was slightly hoarse and still had the tinges of boyhood in it. “Y-you… you shot me.” 

“Why were yeh followin’ me,” the man repeated, ignoring the boy’s statement of the obvious. “I…” John said in response, unsure of exactly ‘why. “I haven’t seen anyone in a while. I-I saw your bi- hawk. Red-tailed… I think. I uh… drew it, do you want to see?” 

“You drew Artimus? Why did you dr- Why were yeh followin me,” he repeated again, a hint of anger in his voice now. John gulped in a breath of air, frightened now. “Because… Because!” he said, gritting his teeth as the pain in his leg flared up. “I just decided to follow you. You have a pet… so you could’ve been a nice person. That hawk of yours is one of the only beautiful things in this place that I’ve seen,” he said, holding his hands up before digging in his satchel to retrieve his journal. He held it up for the man to see, before sliding it over to him. “O-open it to page… sixteen?”

The hunter stopped the book with the toe of his boot and, still aiming his bow at the boy, scooped the book up and awkwardly flipped through it with his free hand. He stopped on the drawing of Artimus; the boy had captured her well in his book. John spoke up again, “There’s other things in there as well. Places. Things. Monsters... I don’t mind you looking through it.” The picture distracted him from the hunt briefly, but he soon snapped back when the boy spoke up, dropping the book and kicking it back to its owner. He eyed him for a moment, trying to decide if he was dangerous or not. He may not have many memories of his life before this land, but his instincts had followed him here, and he had seen animals pretend to be weak before to lure in prey. Somehow though, he did not have that feeling about the boy. He just seemed too fresh to think like a predator.

John grasped at the book tightly, wiping a smudge of dirt off the precious tome with the sleeve of his coat diligently. Suddenly he felt woozy, the image of the book flickering as the world shook. He dropped the journal, falling onto one elbow as he groaned, grasping his head with his other hand. “I… it really… hurts… a lot.”

“Damn it all,” the hunter huffed as the boy looked as though he was on the verge of going unconscious. His own head was pounding from a mixture of dehydration and the gibbering coming from the depths of the crypt. The mad gibbering had gotten closer without him noticing. Limping forward on his own injured legs, the hunter bent and shoved the boy down, saying something about helping. 

Looking up with fear, John spoke out again, “D-don’t shove me so h-” then he heard it. The madness coming from deeper within’ the halls, and there they were, right at the entrance to it. Looking towards the entrance, he called to the hunter. “There’s something in there, right? Deeper in the depths?” 

“Aye. Now, bite down on this,” he said as he removed one of his thick leather gloves and shoved it in the boy’s open mouth. “Whrdr yrr-” The next moment, he grabbed hold of the bolt he shot into the boy’s leg and pulled it free; the blood started flowing freely as its plug was removed. Rook worked as fast as possible, tearing off a strip from the bottom of his cloak with the aid of his hunting knife and then wrapping it around the wound with the crimson-colored side as the exterior.

Only a muffled scream was heard, silenced by the leather stuffed into his mouth. Tears flowed freely down his cheeks as the pain returned again, enhanced ten fold. He barely controlled himself as it took all of his willpower to keep from flailing his arms, doing anything to get away. His vision was red as his leg had first aid delivered. The scream dropped to a moan as John fell back, sweat dripping off his face as he panted in exhaustion, spitting the badly tasting glove out. 

John’s eyes went wide suddenly as he heard something from through the entrance. “S…” he said, barely grasping the words. “Something’s coming…”
SirBeowulf Member

What a load of Donk.

Status

Recent Statuses

Bio

Most Recent Posts
