The #Broken_Dagger Forum

Thundering hooves heralded the arrival of the horses. They barely slowed as they passed the inn, rolling the unconscious form of Thadius Dhrin from the back of the lead rider’s steed. The impact was ugly, brutal, though it seemed as though he had been through worse already.

Platinum locks were stained through with blood, as was his mint green tunic. The hemp and leather sandals that had been on his feet when they had left were gone completely. His right hand was bandaged, which seemed odd given the condition of the rest of him. Lips were split, eyes, cheeks, nose, all bruised to a hideous raspberry black.

Dust clouded up from the impact of the body with the ground. Despite the brutal dismount, the man did not move, did not flinch, and did not even cry out. His broken body simply lay there, some thirty paces from the inn, still and silent.

Well, misery loves company after all.

Sawyer had spent much of the previous day in a customary sulk, loathing the heat and herself equally. Kind, well intentioned words had given her much to think about, in the end.

Too much, as it had sent her into a tizzy of violence, taken out on the furniture in the Dagger's common room.This violent tantrum had ended in murder.

...the murder of a chair.

And half drunk on Agnie's beer, and overwhelmed by her own chaotic emotions, she'd wept helplessly for the object of her victimization. Right up until Quincy had come along, and made it all better. She'd fixed the chair. In some small way, she'd fixed Sawyer.

Then, the wilder had detected the half-fae's own tears, own misery; a gentle embrace offered, and quiet words. This, too, was almost a reparation on Sawyer's heart. The feeling of use, of validation.

Until Quincy had recoiled, and fled - never looking at Sawyer. Though the ranger could not claim to know half-fae's sentiments, it felt very much... like shame.

So, Sawyer had fled the Dagger herself, into the woods, and crumpled there, still a mess, accompanied by tears alone. In the shadow of an ancient tree, she'd slept, troubled.

...but her intention to flee, to associate herself purely with nature, at least for a few days... That plan quickly failed in the reality of a blazing sun and a minor hangover.

Feeling all the more sour, then, here now one could find Sawyer, as she trekked back towards the Dagger. A start was given as the horses hurtled by, the very thunder of their hooves a testament to the violence done here. A body hit the earth, hard, and Sawyer fell instinctively to the grass - a sudden motion she would regret when her head and stomach caught up.

Still, she watched, silent, until they were out of sight... and then, began to crawl forward, slowly daring to rise up to a crouch, slinking forth. Beside that broken body, the ranger would pause, hands hovering out. Green eye searched - was he breathing? Was he bleeding?

"...a-are y-you okay?"

The body was indeed breathing, though it was slow and shallow. Most of the wounds he had suffered did not break the skin, save for the newest on the back of his head, just now starting to trickle blood. Apparently a rock had found his tender head when he had fallen from the horse.

There was some fresh blood beneath the bandage of his right hand, nothing that would kill him, though the pain of the original injury had nearly destroyed him, making it impossible for him to try to aid Ariane as they decended on her.

Thadius did not respond to her voice, but he did hear her, somewhere deep in his mind. There was the desire to call out to her, tell her of his pain, but not the ability. Instead he simply lay there, broken and bleeding.

Oh. Oh no.

Sawyer had ever so hoped that the man would be roused by her voice alone. She had little to no medical knowledge, and, with a cursory examination of her surroundings, it seemed nobody else did either - unless that stone would mercifully hop up and declare itself a doctor. With Sawyer's luck, of course, it seemed more likely if it lunged from the earth and struck her in the face.

Slumped over the man's broken and battered form, the widler began to helplessly tug on her bangs, and it would not have been surprising if she had pulled a handful of hair from her head.

"Pl-please b-be o-okay," she begged of the man, as fingers began to hover over the contours of his body. Here and there, she touched, testing how tender and wounded he was, with gently deft fingers. Perhaps she could move him, bring him inside, or to the Rememdium - although Sawyer was quite nervous of visiting that place.

"Y-you c-can't die," she insisted, both sternly and miserably. Her heart just could not take any more death.

Action would have to be taken.