Fri May 06, 2005 6:29 pm
The arm trembles: all of her strength is required to keep it outstretched. The slim sword shakes. Were she to strike with all of her strength, all of her skill, she might leave him with a graze to remember her corpse by.
She wavers, balanced awkwardly upon thin legs; the glistening is a pronounced thing, a fine sheen across her dusty flesh, an unwarranted sparkle to her eye. There is no move made to advance upon the man, but only because she knows full well that her legs won't support it; what little strength remains to her must be saved for that initial strike -- hah, she cannot even pronounce the Governor a fool, for making that little speech. Three feet of gleaming, trembling uncertainty, and there are exotic words etched into the steel, words from a tongue never spoken here. Her eye narrows, as she inhales a last, readying breath --
And he moves away.
Better, he sits, arranged so as to appeal to a warrior's experience, an animal's instincts. All Is Well, those empty hands say. We Are At Peace, speak those upturned palms. He's done well, to speak to her in the language of gestures -- which is, as ever, the one she understands best. In this state, she's capable of comprehending little else.
But still there is the sword, and the awareness of Bromn rising slowly at her back; it's towards that presence that she moves now, step by cautious step, and not for a heartbeat does her gaze leave the strange Fath'ir.
"To the tavern," she whispers: for once, the hoarseness works in her favour. And for once, she may not have to plead for practicality from the Governor -- for here she turns, to back slowly in that direction herself.
Fri May 06, 2005 6:49 pm
Words of great wisdom flow from the mouth of Ariane. He too is backing away from the large man. If apperances were to be believed, he had saved them. The governor was grateful, but still more than a little nervous.
"Thank ..you. If it was you who ...saved us, we...are greatful."
The man was right, they needed seek the aid of a doctor, knowing Ari's feelings about healing by magickal means.
"The Broken...Dagger. You...will find...it...down this ro..ad. Please...come to speak...with me. I need to know...what happened...here. My name...is Altias."
Speaking was certainly not helping the pounding in his head, nor was it stopping the flow of blood from the small cut at his temple. It was a shallow cut, but it bled like a typical head wound.
Altias would follow Ari's lead, slowly backing down the road, behind the shaky protection of the woman's blade.