*Cries of help. Clash of metal against metal. Splashes of blood. Tyrönn's dead body.*
Agnesh suddenly woke up, a searing pain splitting his head in pieces. He tried to look around, but his eyes were still unresponsive. He closed them shut and grabbed his head in his hands, calming himself. "This must be still a dream. The sounds are exactly the same." He opened his eyes, and recognised some of his fellow prisoners, and some other creatures fighting off the demons that had imprisoned him. Even if this was still a dream, Agnesh had to take action. Grabbing a sword that had fell by his side, he broke free. He looked around, realizing two things. His sickle and crossbow were stored in a cart nearby, and he was free thanks to an ambush, hence the smell.
He run to get his equipment, each step amplifing the pain in his head. He dressed himself in his leather clothes, strapped his sickle in his belt, and grabbed the crossbow and quiver. He tried drawing a bolt, but his arms were weak. He tried calling for help, but no voice came out of his mouth. His vision was starting to fail. Somehow, he was looking up. He had fell down. Everything started to go dark. Yet, the pain did not fade, and nor did the sounds of battle...
*Houses on fire. The crack of Trönn's head. The grin of the same demon that killed Tryönn and knock him unconcious. That demon. Agnesh had named him Pijn. He had to suffer. He had to scream. He had to die.*
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
To post a comment, please login or register a new account.
Agnesh suddenly woke up, a searing pain splitting his head in pieces. He tried to look around, but his eyes were still unresponsive. He closed them shut and grabbed his head in his hands, calming himself. "This must be still a dream. The sounds are exactly the same." He opened his eyes, and recognised some of his fellow prisoners, and some other creatures fighting off the demons that had imprisoned him. Even if this was still a dream, Agnesh had to take action. Grabbing a sword that had fell by his side, he broke free. He looked around, realizing two things. His sickle and crossbow were stored in a cart nearby, and he was free thanks to an ambush, hence the smell.
He run to get his equipment, each step amplifing the pain in his head. He dressed himself in his leather clothes, strapped his sickle in his belt, and grabbed the crossbow and quiver. He tried drawing a bolt, but his arms were weak. He tried calling for help, but no voice came out of his mouth. His vision was starting to fail. Somehow, he was looking up. He had fell down. Everything started to go dark. Yet, the pain did not fade, and nor did the sounds of battle...
*Houses on fire. The crack of Trönn's head. The grin of the same demon that killed Tryönn and knock him unconcious. That demon. Agnesh had named him Pijn. He had to suffer. He had to scream. He had to die.*