Complexity
The passionate writer.
The chase was rough. Thunder, his horse, carried him with speed as it galloped through the mud, splashing water and dirt to the sides. Behind him, three men were riding their own steeds. One of them waved a flail through the air, and another held his reins with just one hand, while the other held a sword. They had been chasing him for a good while, and they seemed to be decided to end him. Thunder's hooves struck into the dirt with desperation at the behest of its rider, but the flail was flying dangerously close to the man's plated armor. He felt a sudden shock as the thick head of the flail finally struck him, making him almost lose balance. He lowered himself just one second shy of taking a direct hit to the head, and watched as the other two of his pursuers enclosed him by coming to gallop at his sides. A swing of the sword from the right was deflected with the plated armor on his forearm, but an unavoidable hit of the flail in the back caused him to gasp sharply with a lack of air. They wanted him.
He has never been a particularly good man, and really, all these people wanted was justice. He had ended up killing two city guards in Freygard, when they recognized him as the wanted man with a reward on his head. But he wasn't keen on dying, and so, he fought back as much as he could, while trying not to lose his balance and fall off Thunder. A free hand pulled out the dagger from his waist, and in a moment, he planted it in the throat of the man with the sword, the latter coughing and falling back off his steed into the dirt. Perhaps. Perhaps he could dodge justice just once more.
Hours later, in the middle of the night, the man rode through a thicket of trees. His armor was crushed, his face bloodied, and he was on the line between unconsciousness and... this. He had fought off and evaded his pursuers, but it took a price. There was a gaping wound in his leg now, constantly pouring blood... the precious river of life. He felt tired, exhausted, and the more time he passed, as Thunder took him through the small patch of forest, the heavier he felt. The tower of a temple nearby was visible, and even through his state, the man could remember. A smile cracked, ever so bitter, on his lips, barely visible through his beard caked with dried blood. Should I pray to the gods, now? He thought, sarcastically, before he let his weight back and fell off his horse, which continued its slow travel unhindered. He felt his head hit against the ground, and his breath becoming shallow, and he turned his gaze to what he could see of the temple.
It seemed, after all, that divine justice existed, and it had finally come for him. He was done for. That was as far as him tricking death went. But his soul was slightly at peace. Perhaps such a death was deserved. A man without a god, dying near a temple... how fucking ironic... His thought rumbled.
He has never been a particularly good man, and really, all these people wanted was justice. He had ended up killing two city guards in Freygard, when they recognized him as the wanted man with a reward on his head. But he wasn't keen on dying, and so, he fought back as much as he could, while trying not to lose his balance and fall off Thunder. A free hand pulled out the dagger from his waist, and in a moment, he planted it in the throat of the man with the sword, the latter coughing and falling back off his steed into the dirt. Perhaps. Perhaps he could dodge justice just once more.
Hours later, in the middle of the night, the man rode through a thicket of trees. His armor was crushed, his face bloodied, and he was on the line between unconsciousness and... this. He had fought off and evaded his pursuers, but it took a price. There was a gaping wound in his leg now, constantly pouring blood... the precious river of life. He felt tired, exhausted, and the more time he passed, as Thunder took him through the small patch of forest, the heavier he felt. The tower of a temple nearby was visible, and even through his state, the man could remember. A smile cracked, ever so bitter, on his lips, barely visible through his beard caked with dried blood. Should I pray to the gods, now? He thought, sarcastically, before he let his weight back and fell off his horse, which continued its slow travel unhindered. He felt his head hit against the ground, and his breath becoming shallow, and he turned his gaze to what he could see of the temple.
It seemed, after all, that divine justice existed, and it had finally come for him. He was done for. That was as far as him tricking death went. But his soul was slightly at peace. Perhaps such a death was deserved. A man without a god, dying near a temple... how fucking ironic... His thought rumbled.