ＦＡＤＩＮＧ ＩＮＴＯ ＡＳＨ ＡＮＤ ＤＵＳＴ

[Dragonette_11]

Edited

Ｅｌｉｚａｂｅｔｈ Ａｎｎｅ Ａｒａｂｅｌｌａ

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Ｔｈｉｅｆ | Ｓｅｖｅｎｔｅｅｎ | Ｉｓｔｏｔｈ
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At the
Battle Field
↽₋⇁
With Alvere, Aeron,
Evan, & Beinethiel
↽₋⇁
Single &
No Crush

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Somehow, Elizabeth had managed to hang on to her every belonging, having sheathed her knife and sword before completely becoming useless. She couldn't bear to part with them, nor the bow that was still strapped across her back. The girl felt herself coming too, groaning and unable to move. Blinking, she took note that she was in some tent, from what her blurry vision told her that is. Gazing down at her body, she noticed that they had bond her. A strange laughed escaped from her lips, and she let her head rolled back again.

Green eyes gazed around the tent, and she began to notice others were there. The man who had brought her here who was talking to some man that she did not care to recognize, an elf that looked quite like one of the military leaders for Istoth, and, who was that? The princess? Suddenly Elizabeth's amusement for the man taking her hostage grew into anger. We're done for. Little princess Evangeline couldn't stay home like a good girl to care for her people, now couldn't she? she thought, and sighed heavily, closing her heavy eyelids.

At least I didn't completely waste my time, Elizabeth thought, as she gazed back towards Evangeline. Surely the princess would need help breaking out, along with the rest of the hostages. She tried to not think of prison much, however. You see, she has a major problem dealing with her claustrophobia, meaning that she can't stand to be locked up. Oh, she hated it, and it drove her mad just about. Tapping her fingers together, she gazed off towards the ceiling, already planning out possible ways of escape for different situations.

[Dark.]

Pʀɪɴᴄᴇ Aᴇʀᴏɴ ᴏғ Sᴇᴜʟɢʜᴇᴍ
Currently;; With the Hostages | Tagged;; Evangeline, Beinethiel, Elizabeth, Alvere

Upon the approach of hooves, Aeron stood up hastily, a little embarrassed to be seen kneeling on the grass, healing the hostages. Instead, he clicked his fingers at to nearby Seulghem squires and gestured to Evangeline and Beinethiel, "Bind their hands and feet. We don't want them escaping now." he hesitated, "Be careful though - they are injured."

The hooves belonged to a magnificent black warhorse, who Aeron immediately recognised as Alvere's mount. He tilted his head in greeting, striding over to meet the King's Guard. He casually waved his hand in recognition of Alvere's bow and listened to the man. A grin widened across his face. Aeron's jaw still throbbed from where the elf had punched him; but at least that was the only injury he had sustained; Alvere looked to have a few open gashes, "Istoth's most wanted criminal, eh?" He eyed the unconsious girl; she too was injured, "Someone almost as hated by Istoth as we are. She should get on well with her fellow hostages." He allowed himself a small chuckle. He felt no need to introduce the fellow hostages, they should need no introduction to Alvere. "Good work." Aeron made to slap Alvere's shoulder in celebration (a quirk of his) but stopped short; noticing the wound just in time. He withdrew his hand turning to face the battle feild. More Seulghem men dotted the landscape than Istoth, "The battle is almost won." He grinned; that meant two things. Drink and wenches. Aeron's smile wiped off his face suddenly as he spun around; surveying all those nearby. He turned to face Alvere, "Where is the King?" he demanded. His face was calm; however his eyes betrayed his worry.

[reasonable.]

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"one-of-a-kind elf"|Merideth Abigail Mortor
location = Seulghem/Forest
gender = Female
age = 20
Mood = Anxious and Excited
Tagged = Captain Greenleaf (Tuilinnor)
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Merideth drew in a breath before lowering her weapon slowly but carefully in case he brought out another sword as well. Her eyes travelling over him, she realized that he was one of her- she couldn't kill one of her own kind- could she? If no one has ever seen him around the village before, it would be best to dispose of him before he would cause any harm. Hiding those thoughts away, she lifted the mask of armor from her face, now giving complete proof that she was of the feminine gender. Resting the helmet against her side, she narrowed her eyes slowly, a hint of amusement sparkling inside of her wide blue optics as she spoke. "Why not fight then? If your one of us, you have the right- as long as your the bait, we'll be perfect." She teased, before hearing the earsplitting screech of something behind her. Whipping around, her hair flying behind her, she looked up to see flames shooting from a creature's mouth onto the village, the being flapping it's large wings as it tore apart house after house. Immediately her eyes flashed, remembering all the people she cared for in the house alone, waiting for her to come back and rescue them. Turning around to face the male elf, her eyes widened as something crashed and shook the floor along with it. "Follow me.." She hollered over the noises before running as fast as she could, the armor not allowing her to go as fast as she wished, but still running on anyways. Breathing out heavily, she placed the helmet on her head to cover from debris shattering from the sky, looking back to see if the man was behind her. Realizing something had almost come crashing down onto her, she leaped, landing in a heap as the floor set on fire, hurrying to see if he was okay before running towards her home. It was almost destroyed, small parts on fire but nothing too noticeable. With the dragon overhead, she swore as it tumbled down, letting out a scream as her small home crashed down. "No!" Was all she could managed before looking back, fighting back tears before pushing herself inside the burning home.

Pushing through large chunks of broken debris from the home, she found the ashed bodies laying on the floor, and she immediately reached to pull them out of the entrance, since they were closest to the door. Dottie had been in the far corner with her mother- a girl with that young age shouldn't deserve to die, not like this. Coughing smoke as the burning house tumbled behind her, she avoided the flames as she searched blindly for her young adopted sister. "Dottie!" She screeched, her voice crowded with emotion as she held her tears in, her chest aching with the effort of not giving up. Throwing a broken chair, she found the old woman cradling the toddler, both of their faces crowded with ash as the elderly woman gave a hopeless look towards her. Gripping both of their hands, she pulled them out of the building, her face stained with ash as she held the small girl in her arms, gripping her hand tightly with pain as she drew in a long and shaky breath, her eyes glazed over newly found hatred for the kingdom of Istoth. Looking over at the dragon that flew towards the forest, she breathed out again, not even realizing the other elf was with her as well.
"I will.. avenge her.." She murmured, dropping Dottie's young hand before gripping her bow tightly with her shaking palm and walking after her, her eyes focused barely on the whir of her mindset.

{holy crap... i missed out five pages? that's alot, even for me ;o; guess i have a lot to catch up on.. and read... //sigh// :c}

[Keriae]

◤--------------------◥
ＡＬＶＥＲＥ.
male :: royal guard :: twenty :: seulghem
tagged - elizabeth, aeron, evangeline,
beinethiel
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It seemed that his royal-blooded friend agreed with him. Alvere's face split into a grin at the chuckle resonating from his friend and the Royal Guard jerked his head sideways for the servant to take the girl over to the two other hostages. Watching her being taken away, he had to bring himself back quickly, just as Aeron hesitated in slapping his shoulder. Normally it was something they did while praising each other, but it seemed the Prince had noticed the three-inch deep wound on his shoulder which still dribbled blood: his entire shoulder was steadily staining dark but at least the bleeding was slowing down. "Don't worry about it. I'll get it fixed up once this wraps up." All in all it had been a rather short battle, quite uncharacteristic. Normally these battles waged on for at least a good few hours, but not more than half an hour could have passed since they stopped at the top of the slope.

However, all thoughts of impending nights out with his friends, getting drunk and bedding women were washed away like the sea washed away all debris when it turned out that the King was nowhere to be seen. Prince Aeron's face and voice was calm - the King had fought in many battles, and while he generally came out wounded, he was a true warrior and never seemed to die - but his blue eyes shone with his worry and that immediately had Alvere on edge. His head whipped around, scanning the milling crowd of healers and servants, of women with the supplies and the injured men. But the King was not nearby and that meant he was still in the thick of the battle.

They couldn't get worked up. He was likely fine. He could fight, and he could kill without mercy in the name of his Kingdom. He always swore an oath to his wife, the Queen, that he would return, always after she had given him a wife's blessing for war and danger. However, he was getting on the old side now: he wouldn't be as quick as he used to be. Lately he had been sustaining more injuries than he used to, and larger ones at that, not the little nicks they used to be. And against young foot soldiers haling from Istoth, he was in serious risk. Besides, he couldn't let his friend go rushing back into the battle without some backup. If the King was lost, they couldn't loose his one child and heir to the throne. "I'm sure he's fine," Alvere responded, trying desperately to remain calm while all around them people cottoned on to their Prince's worry, "he's a warrior at heart, you know that," his hand moved to clasp Aeron's shoulder in a firm, reassuring grip, "however, we can go back onto the battlefield if you wish." Alvere would accompany his friend to the ends of the Earth; he would accompany him to Hell and back.

As he spoke, one of the servants with listening ears and prying eyes had grabbed the reins of his own warhorse and a horse he had never seen before: it certainly wasn't the filly Aeron had rode into battle. He could only guess the inexperienced nag had been spooked and run off, so Aeron had to make do with whatever he could get. It looked like the servant had guessed what would happen.

[Dark.]

Pʀɪɴᴄᴇ Aᴇʀᴏɴ ᴏғ Sᴇᴜʟɢʜᴇᴍ
Currently;; With the Hostages | Tagged;; Evangeline, Beinethiel, Elizabeth, Alvere

Aeron stood still, briefly shutting his eyes as he fought to control the rising panic within him. He's fine. He has weathered more battles than you and come out fighting fit. He's a fighter - remember? He took a deep breath, allowing his attempt to reassure himself sink in. A fighter - that's what the King was. When Aeron was just a young boy, he used to ask him not to go to war. The King would kneel down and chuckle at him before smiling, each time promising to return. At first, Aeron had been distraught whenever the King left for war; but as he got older and he began to understand the intricacies, Aeron had stood proud. Each time the army returned, the pair would share a private drink on the Royal Balcony late into the night; long after Seulghem had gone to sleep. The Prince and his King, overlooking their Kingdom. But to Aeron, of course, he was more than just a King, he was his father - the man he aspired to be. Aeron couldn't shake the feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach, or the thought that this time he would be drinking alone.

Aeron felt Alvere's hand rest on his shoulder, pulling him back from his disturbing thoughts. He turned to look at his friend, focusing on his voice. However, we can go back onto the battlefield if you wish. Aeron didn't (and couldn't) respond verbally, so instead he answered with one nod of his head. At this moment in time, he didn't trust his voice - it could easily betray him and that was all they needed; people were already beginning to panic.

A servant brought forward two mounts, Alvere's own black steed and the bay courser Aeron had claimed earlier; draped in the Istoth colours. Turning on his heel, Aeron stalked back over towards the hostages. He weaved through them, his blue eyes trained on the ground, avoiding looking at any of them. Lunging down, Aeron picked up his half-helm in one fluid strike, thrusting it onto his head. In that one motion, his outlook changed. He was no longer Prince Aeron; a boy worried for his father but Prince Aeron; iron pike and veteran of war. His face set in steel he turned, striding over to the Istoth horse. Thrusting one foot in the stirrup he spurred on the creature, flinging up into the saddle as the horse lunged forward. He had barely gathered his reins and he was already hurtling down the hill at full gallop. Aeron applied his spurs generously; little did he care if he ran the Istoth beast to death. Within minutes he was back amongst the fray. Aeron hadn't even drawn Widowmaker; instead he flung his horse this way and that, desperatly scanning the fighting soldiers.

[Keriae]

◤--------------------◥
ＡＬＶＥＲＥ.
male :: royal guard :: twenty :: seulghem
tagged - aeron
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He quickly followed his friend as he mounted and he ignored the gore and sweat that coated both himself and his steed. Someone in the small amount of time that he had been on his own feet and fitted a new saddle onto the nag, giving him better comfort and a better seat upon the beast. Within moments Aeron had darted away and Alvere made no hesitation in digging in his heels against flesh and yanking hard on the reins. He not only had to keep up with the Prince, but his own heart was beating wildly within his ribcage as he worried for the King. There was only so long a man could fight throughout his lifetime and there was only so long a man to could fight in a battle, but weighed down with his ripening age the King would only suffer.

They were within the fierce fighting in minutes and Aeron was creating a wide path through the yowling crowd with ease. He could see the helmeted head twisting back and forth and he knew that his friend would be worrying for his father beyond reason. Alvere's own father had been deemed too old, to weathered, to fight in battle any more and as such Alvere did not have to worry for him. But since the young age he had joined the Royal Guard and become an apprentice, the King had taken him under his wing and Alvere not only felt loyalty towards him as his ruler, but he loved the man like a second father.

All around them there were people yelling and shouting. Gore was everywhere and the ground was slowly turning into a muddy trap that sucked at Jet's hooves. Then he heard taunts over the racket, and he heard jubilant shouts. The Royal Guard's head shot around and he spotted a group of five, all around his own age, with matted hair and smeared faces, standing in a circle around a man with grey-silver hair who was hunched over in pain. There was no mistaking the build: it was the King, and he was being terrorised by Istoth scum.

Swearing vehemently in a loud voice, his longsword was unsheathed and he urged his equine on. People leapt out of the way but the group did not move, instead continuing their relentless attack upon the poor aged King. They were taking turns to rush in and jab the points of their swords into the old man, the others keeping him from running off and laughing loudly when he tried to retaliate. "Cowards!" Alvere yelled at the top of his lungs as he reached them. His sword swung down in a glistening arc and neatly killed one of the lads with a clean swipe across the neck.

[Dark.]

Pʀɪɴᴄᴇ Aᴇʀᴏɴ ᴏғ Sᴇᴜʟɢʜᴇᴍ
Currently;; Battling | Tagged;; Alvere

Searching. Scanning. His eyes desperately scoured the face of the footsoldiers. He weaved and twisted, the poor horse desperately pulling and gagging against it's bit. Aeron pushed the mount on relentless, almost unseating himself as the courser stumbled and cat-leaped awkwardly over a white mass on the floor. Aeron swun around, his eyes widening in horror as he took in the horse. Draped in the Seulghem colours and golden armour, his father's white destrier lay on the ground; a mortal wound on it's neck still painting it's pelt red. Nausea blinded him momentarily as he searched the nearby corpses for his father. No sign.

Cowards! Alvere. Aeron twisted his mount to the sound of his friend's voice. His heart lurched in his chest. Their stood the king, behind poked with swords like a butcher's pig. He watched with utter horror as one man lunged forward, sinking a deep blow with a sword that forced his father onto his knees. Alvere was charging in fury, dispatching with the scum one by one. Aeron felt stook in position, frozen. His brain and his body had refused to communicate; refused to function. Then he was shocked back into reality.

His mount let out a dying scream, it's legs buckling beneath him. Aeron only just managed to loosen his stirrups in order to roll to the side, so his leg wasn't trapped beneath the horse's side. The horse lashed beside him as Aeron scrambled to his feet. Just as he lifted his head, he was hit by a blow to the back that knocked all traces of air from his lungs. Staggering forward Aeron gasped, drawing Widowmaker and turning. He ducked just as the large cudgel swung over his head. The opponent was a mere footsoldier, lightly armoured. Aeron thrust Widowmaker forward bindly, feeling the blade sink deep into the man's gut. Refusing to stop and check if the man was dead, Aeron turned running toward Alvere and the savages.

He brought Widowmaker down hard on the first man, embedding the blade deep into the man's shoulder. Swinging around, Aeron allowed Widowmaker to meet with the next man; lodging the blade deep in his side. He hesitated; the blade was stuck. As he dislodged the blade with his foot; Aeron was met with a blow to the face. The cold bite of steel clawed at his face; though the Pike's jaws took most of the force from the sword. A thin line of blood sprang up from the hairline wound on his cheek. The thing wasn't deep; but it stung. Aeron staggered backwards, taking a breath before landing a heavy attack on the Istoth man. He fought back aggressively, matching Aeron's blows. Finally, the Istoth man slipped up, allowing Aeron the chance to whip Widowmaker up and take the man's head clean off.

There weren't many Isoth men left now; most were trying to fight of him and Alvere. Aeron's eyes flashed to his father. One Isoth man remained. That man plunged his sword into the King's back. The old man arched in agony before falling forward onto his chest, "No!" Aeron's cry was one of anger. Aeron raced forward, barreling past one oncoming Istoth. He fully tackled his father's murderer to the floor, landing with a crash of steel. Somewhere he had dropped Widowmaker. Blinded by anger, Aeron raised his fist, bringing his steel gaunlet down on the man's face. Repeatedly.

Eventually, he rolled off the man, panting. His face was a mixture of blood, sweat and tears. Not caring if there were any remaining Istoth men, Aeron crawled across to were his father lay. Gently, he rolled him over. The old man's eyes were glassy, blood dribbling from the corner of his lips. Overcome by grief, Aeron yelled in the general direction of Alvere, "He's dead Alvere. He's...." his voice came out quieter than he intended, and more broken. He knew this would be as much of a dagger to the heart to Alvere as it was to him.

(phew..finally....*scurries off to go watch the Musketeers* sidenote: is it weird that whenever I look at Aramis now all I see is Alvere o_0)

[Keriae]

◤--------------------◥
ＡＬＶＥＲＥ.
male :: royal guard :: twenty :: seulghem
tagged - aeron
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After chopping off the man's head he was faced with a second opponent. However, he took one look at the Royal Guard with bloodied clothes and a grimy face, with eyes that burned with rage and a steed that had a wild look, shifting from hoof to hoof. A quick draw of a dagger from his belt and the tiny weapon was thrown. It landed squarely on the ignorant young lad's back, right between the shoulder blade and before Alvere even turned his head away another Seulghem soldier fell upon the Istoth and killed him.

Alvere tugged on the reins of his horse once more, feeling his hands rub and start to raw. He turned and he saw Aeron on the muddy floor near - Gods, no! That could not be the King's body! The King could not be dead, he simply couldn't. He was strong, he was a warrior, he was a true soldier and he was never meant to die in a meaningless battle against a foe that they had fought for near an entire century! The King was meant to die in his home, in his bed, with his wife besides him and his son too. He shouldn't have been dying of a grand old age in a plush, warm bed, not on a cold and muddy field.

The Royal Guard saw the murderer begin to run away, his feet slipping on the mud. All he saw was red clouding his vision and he knew that there was nothing else he could do but attempt to catch him. It didn't take long, not on his warhorse, tired though he was. A stab on the back, quickly followed by a harsh kick and then he let Jet rear before the hooves came down. Then he heard Aeron's pained voice and he turned back around.

His horse was besides the two within seconds and Alvere was crouching down beside his friend, one hand on the Prince's back and the other drifting over the King's wrinkled face. His throat tightened and he swallowed thickly, breathing shakily and then his eyes closed. The King was dead. The King of Seulghem was dead.

"Aeron..... Aeron, you're King now," his voice was tight as he spoke, but his gaze remained steady, "we need to leave. We need to leave now, return to the palace and prepare for your coronation."

that's funny because when i roleplay alvere all i see is aramis xD he's so handsome and he's a great, well-rounded character <3

[Dark.]

Pʀɪɴᴄᴇ Aᴇʀᴏɴ ᴏғ Sᴇᴜʟɢʜᴇᴍ
Currently;; Mourning the dead | Tagged;; Alvere

No no no. No. This wasn't happening. Alvere was speaking. Aeron tried to focus on his words. King? A coronation? Oh no that couldn't be right at all. See, Seulghem already had a King - his father. A brave and noble man, an excellent leader. A man who now lay dead infront of him. Alvere had closed the Kings eyes, and it suddenly struck Aeron how old the man now looked; tired yet peaceful. Aeron allowed himself a moments grace, counting his heartbeats as stared at his father's face.

His mother would be destroyed. Aeron had walked in on them last night having a heated discussion in his father's study. The Queen had begged him not to go, pleaded with him. She suggested Aeron should lead the army. The King was growing slower in his age, less suited to war. But his father had smiled and asked Aeron's opinion. Aeron had joked with his father and told his mother to stop acting so faithless. It was the King they were talking about for Gods sake; he was indestructible! Aeron's jaw tensed as he gritted his teeth. Alvere was right; he had a duty to uphold.

Aeron rose, slowly at first, getting his bearings before straightening. He would send some healers back for his father's body; he would need to be interred in the family crypt. He turned away from Alvere, drawing his palm haphazardly across his face, pasting a mask of blood and sweat. His palm came away red, however he wiped it down on his chest plate. Aeron's eyes hurt from the tears; crying was something he hadn't done since he was a child; and he felt foolish acting so weak - even infront of his most trusted ally.

Clearing his throat he looked around. The battle too was dying. What little Istoth men were left were either outnumbered by Seulghem soldiers or turning to flee. It didn't feel like a victory; but it was a victory nonetheless. A bittersweet one. A glimmer of black caught his eye, and Aeron's hand instinctively went to his hip. The sheath was empty. He stepped forward and retrieved Widowmaker, slotting her back at his side. Aeron had almost returned to his calm self when he spotted a glimmer of orange, semi-concealed beneath an Istoth carcass. Aeron bent down, rolling the man to the side and grasping the blade, pulling it into his hand. It was similar to Widowmaker, except where his blade was dark black, this sword was magnificent orange. Fury. His father's blade. Aeron looked down at the man, recognising him. He had been one of the men terrorising the King moments earlier; stabbing him with his own sword. Aeron's blood began to boil, his grief transforming into unfiltered anger. An Istoth banner blew up in the wind. Istoth. It was there fault.

Perhaps if he hadn't been tending to the wounds of the Istoth hostages, perhaps then he could have been protecting his father. Aeron turned darkly to Alvere, brandishing Fury by his side, "I'll make them pay for this." As he turned toward the tents it was pretty evident who he meant. Aeron set off at a brisk walk, Fury held by his side. All he wanted right now was each hostages head on a spike, even the Princesses, and it would be just like Alvere to play the voice of reason. As he walked, Aeron's thoughts drew to his father; how would he react. His first thought would be of his people; not of revenge. Aeron ground his teeth as he reached the tents; removing his helmet as he looked at his people. He refused to acknowledge the hostages. Aeron's face was a mess, the drying blood only just masking his puffy eyes. Aeron's voice rang out, cool and clear, as he clutched the ugly half-helm tightly to his chest, "The King is dead."

(Edited to hurry it along a little for those hostages with nothing to do x3 and to make Aeron seem less of a petulant child ^^)

[duckworth]

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ＥＶＡＮＧＥＬＩＮＥ
Princess Evangeline "Evan" Blythe
female | eighteen | Isoth
tagged: Aeron, Beinethiel, Elizabeth
not entirely sure where she is
not really sure what she's doing
no crush & single
❝ If we don't end war, war will end us. ❞
- H.G. Wells
format © vita.anima

Evangeline had no idea what was going on. At first, Prince Aeron had been binding Beinethiel's wounds, which Evan was grateful for. Even though she had pressured the prince into doing it, basically forcing his hand, at least he did it without complaining. That had to count for something, at least.
The next thing she knew, a soldier from the Royal Guard approached to converse with the prince. She tuned out their conversation, not bothering to try and eavesdrop. She wasn't a fan of being eavesdropped on, so she didn't eavesdrop on others. After all, Evangeline hated to be a hypocrite.
Just as quickly as the Royal Guard soldier had arrived, he took the prince with him. As much as Evangeline tried not to listen in on their obviously private conversation, she had picked up a few words by accident. Something about the king...? Oh no. If the king died, then Prince Aeron would most likely chop off all their heads in anger. He would have no problem killing even Princess Evangeline if his father was dead. Anger and grief would cloud his senses, making him think illogically and only with passion and fury. Prince Aeron would blame the Istoth prisoners for his father's death, and blame the entire enemy kingdom as well, and use that horrible hatred to fuel the rest of the war. Evangeline doubted she would be able to reason with the prince if he was extremely angry. She hoped, for more reasons than one, that the king of Seulghem was still alive.

As Prince Aeron left with the soldier, some servants tied her wrists together, makeshift shackles of rope. They weren't at all gentle with her either, much to Evangeline's displeasure, but she ignored the pain, her mind instead filled with worry at the state of the king of Seulghem. She didn't really care much for his life as an individual, but mostly about the state of Prince Aeron if the king died. That would be a death sentence for all of the hostages.
Looking at Beinethiel, the princess gritted her teeth, wondering just whose head would be on a pike first if the worst had happened. Probably hers or the elf's. There was a new girl there as well, she looked pretty young, about seventeen, and she looked vaguely familiar. Evangeline was pretty sure she was a thief, but they were all in the same boat now, as prisoners of Seulghem.

Prince Aeron came back, looking not at all happy. Princess Evangeline's heart dropped to her feet, and she could barely breathe, nearly choking on nothing. Evan's worst suspicions were confirmed when Prince Aeron announced to everyone that the king was dead. Evangeline let out a slow hiss from between her gritted teeth, making sure to keep quiet enough that she wouldn't draw attention.
She desperately tried to meet Aeron's gaze, but he refused to look at the hostages. Great. Now we're all going to be beheaded, and Prince Aeron will stick our heads on pikes.
Making one last desperate attempt for Aeron to notice her, Evangeline shifted closer to the prince, staring at him determinedly. "Aeron, can we talk?" she said in a low undertone, so only he could hear. He probably would end up ignoring her, but she might as well try. "Please, Aeron," Evangeline winced at the begging in her voice. She hated begging, but it was probably her last shot at keeping her people and the hostages alive.

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ＬＥＯＮＩＤＡＳ
Leonidas "Leo" Gorgon
male | twenty | Seulghem
tagged: Ryder
on the battlefield
fighting the shapeshifter
no crush & single
❝ When the rich wage war, it's the poor who die. ❞
Jean-Paul Sartre
format © vita.anima

Leonidas glared at Ryder, careful about how he was going to approach her. He didn't want to hurt her. She was right about that part. He hated killing, especially when it came to women. Still, as "endangered" as this shapeshifter claimed to be, it didn't matter. He had to defeat her before she got her strength back and turned into a devastatingly powerful, firebreathing dragon.
Leonidas drew his sword, his iron shield in front of his face as he advanced as quickly as possible. He saw her movement, and quick as a flash, Leo ducked his head, dodging the knife that the shapeshifter threw at him. It narrowly missed his ear, but passed by harmlessly, landing somewhere behind him. He didn't bother to look, instead focusing on keeping his reflexes sharp and his mind clear.
To his surprise, the woman advanced forward and took a swing at his leg. She cut through his fur armor, giving him a light scratch. It was nothing serious, but it bled like crazy and hurt just as much, stinging like hell. Leo ignored the pain, not even bothering to glance down at his scratched thigh. I've gotten splinters worse than this, he thought to himself, trying to build confidence to ignore the pain. It wasn't true, the cut was generally thin and shallow, but was very long, and would probably scar.
Growling with fury, Leonidas spun his blade around, bringing it high above his head and smashing downwards with the flat of his blade so he wouldn't cut her. He wanted to disorient her enough so that he could bind her wrists and take her prisoner. He didn't want to kill such a valuable potential hostage. Swinging again, Leonidas used his hilt, smashing downwards with the butt of his sword to try and disarm her. Maybe without her sword, the woman would put up less of a fight, although he doubted. It would end up making his job easier in the long run though. Hopefully the impact would be enough to make her drop the weapon.

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((Mockingjay, we should probably end their little fight soon. ^^))