Deserters

[StoneWolf18]

Elara and finally escaped.


Or...sealed her own fate of a gruesome death.


But at this point, none of it seemed to matter as she slipped through the back lines and sprinted as fast as she could in such a weakened and malnourished state. Tossing the chipped and rusted blade that had been pride from the countless hands of dead men to the blood stained and withering grass, the woman clumsy shrugged off the overly large brestplate that was clearly built for a man. She knew that if she was caught, she would've tried for desertion. But after withstanding a siege of countless years and being forced to make one last effort, either option was suicide. And she'd rather pick the lesser of the two.


The drow kept her eyes focused on the treelike ahead of her, the only


thing that kept her moving was shear determination, fear, and the intoxicating amounts of adrenaline that coursed though her system. It grew nearer by the second, the horrific sound did battle and death being left far behind. A hopeful and excited glee filled her once she dove in between the thick oaks, the brush swallowing her and her trail whole. Pushing through blindly, Elara kept up through until she came across a small clearing that wasn't viable from the border of trees. Here she decided to rest momentarily, her breath coming in ragged gasps, chest heaving and sweat glistening upon her brow. Yet the cool air nipped fiercely at her beneath a thin, worn dress and her current somewhat panicked condition wasn't helping in the slightest. Making her way towards the neatest tree, she would slid down the trunk and rest her head. Wanting to get moving again as soon as she was able.


@Your Local Milkman

 

[Your Local Milkman]

"Get up. You're needed on the battlefront."


Asher snorted at the unreasonable demand, pointing at his sprained ankle, "You can't be serious; I can barely stand, and you want me to fight?"


His retort was met with a swift smack to his left temple, "Do not make me repeat myself, Nahd." The officer spat out that last word as if just saying the word was enough to leave a bad taste in his mouth.


Despite the difference in positions, the Nahd wasn't about to back down, "Tell me officer, why are you here when your comrades are out there, dying at this very moment? Don't they need your leadership now more than ever?" As Asher nursed his left ear, trying to ease the ringing from the blow before, he raised an accusing eye at the officer, "You act all high and mighty, but you're actually a sad, pathetic man scared shitless for his pitiful life."


For a moment, the two said nothing, only exchanging glares. Then the officer cracked his knuckles, "I'm going to enjoy this, Nahd."


---


Grabbing Asher by the hair, the officer violently dragged him out of the medical tent. After tossing Asher into the mud, the officer got onto his chest and began pummeling at his face. The taste of blood and filth entered his mouth as each blow was followed by another blow, Asher helpless to stop them. His consciousness slowly began to fade. At this rate, he was really going to die.


The single thought of this was enough to wake Asher up. He's gone through hell and back to survive up to this moment. He wasn't about to die here. 


The officer paused the onslaught for a brief second, stroking his now swollen knuckles. Asher took this opportunity, given to him by God himself, to snatch the dagger off of the officer's belt. And before the officer could react, Asher mustered what remaining strength he had and rammed the flimsy blade into the officer, piercing through his rotting leather chest plate. 


Asher twisted the blade before pulling it out and pushing the officer off of him. He quickly pulled himself onto his feet, pain erupting from his right ankle. Without waiting another second, he began hobbling as fast as his legs would allow him, the officer crying for help behind him.


---


Now both a traitor and a deserter, Asher wheezed, struggling to get his lungs to accept the mucky air. Since everyone was focused on the actual battle, nobody was there to stop him as he escaped into the woods. Despite the protesting from his bright purple ankle, the Nahd had to make some distance between him and the battlefield before he could rest.

 

[StoneWolf18]

She rested for a few more moments until catching herself asleep. Rousing almost instantly, Elara was quick to try and stand, her numb and frozen limbs not cooperating as much as she would've liked. Not much time had past, but more than enough to cause her to worry. Even though she was so insignificant, they still might send the hounds after her, if they had any left. Using the tree for support, the woman leaned on it heavily and blew into her hands, desperately trying to warm them up before coninuing into the brush at a snail's pace.


Elara continued for a short while, forcing herself onward as she was ready to die when she was so damned close. But, in the weak lighting of the setting sun, movement caught the corner of her eye. Spinning on her heel, she examining the brush, it sounding as if an injured bear was lumbering towards her. Curiosity took over her mind's rational reaction to run, so she remained rooted in place. Watching. Waiting.

 

[Your Local Milkman]

Fatigue began to take its toll on Asher as he limped through the undergrowth, the thorns picking and tearing at his skin and hair. Half-dead, the Nahd could only grimace as the parasites in his stomach writhe, demanding sustenance. He didn't just look like a dead man walking, but he smelled like one too. It's been months since he's last had a decent bath, the grim covering him had long since become a second layer of skin.


Despite all this, Asher was just thankful to be alive at this point.


His ankle continued to cry in pain, but Asher couldn't afford to stop yet. Not until he was far enough from the battlefield. After trekking for another ten minutes, exhaustion finally got to the weary fugitive, causing him to collapse onto a tree. It was at that moment, he found himself face to face with a drow. And not just any drow, her distinct grey skin meant that she's from the north. She was an enemy.


Alarms went off in Asher's head, screaming fight or flight. He leaped onto his feet, scowling as he landed on his right foot. Even though she looked harmless enough, this war has made killers not just out of men, but also women and children. In his current state, there was now way in hell he'd be able to outrun her. It was either kill or be killed. 


With this in mind, the desperate Nahd lunged forward with the feeble blade he had stolen from the officer before. But before he could even get in reach of the threat, Asher clumsily tripped on his own leg, causing him to drop his weapon and fall flat on his face.