• Mature • -‡- Wings In Darkness III -‡-

[Coroth]

-‡- 30th of Valar, Arc 721 -‡-

-‡- Stumbling, Coroth continued onwards. The alley amongst the buildings opened up and spilt him onto another ghostly street. Windows were still shuddered, dark, with scarce illuminations of inhabitants within. Were they dead? Or pretending to be asleep out of fear, or wisdom?

Breaths were being pulled through the gaping of his mouth to douse his raging lungs. Recuperating from his most recent encounter, brazen eyes were cast along the lengths of the street. He chose to head back the way he had come, towards the taverns barn that stood out amongst the one story hovels and poorly built buildings. Mud leapt from the ground where he stepped, splashing onto the hind of his boots as he strode forward.

By the time he made it to the barn, he had regained his stamina, his breaths back to a near normal cadence within the protection of his leather armor. Yet voices were over heard inside of the barn as he approached. Two men who seemed to be having a party, one of a malicious intent with a maniacal sound of humor.

Coroth tore the blade from his sheath behind him. The slight chill of the steel had yet to gather at the leather of the hilt. His fist had warmed and bathed it in blood earlier. Something about killing seemed to feed a chaotic nerve, or spark within him. The weave of the winds catching at his thoughts as it passed over his tipped ears.

He wrestled his shield from his back as the arm bearing his sword was proving to be a disgrace. Injured and causing his ability to hold his blade to be a struggle that could lead to his death. There was no way he would be able to use his bow.

He stumbled towards the opening of the barn. The cast light from lanterns within spilled onto the hay splotched ground that led into the mud of the street. Two men were over the body of his avriel comrade. Jeering at the wounded laying at their mercy, which proved of little worth with the glance Coroth was able to garner.

An avriel at times lost themselves in a manic of fury and shortened spans to reason. This inate part of him took over as he felt his brother in danger. Wielded weapons were raised into the air, ushering of his battered and bandaged wings were lowered behind him as he dashed through the entrance and charged at the two men.

They of course had time to turn around and face their attacker. Looks of sinister fun and bringers of torment disappeared and were replaced with an apprehension of sudden fear. Yet they were quick to meet the danger, their own weapons brought to bear.

The first had a spear, its blood splotched wooden shaft swung through the air to face the oncoming avriel. The second circled around him with a dexterous fluency to flank him. The avriel continued his charge, his shield was brought more directly in front of him, hoping it would deter the spears point as he hid himself behind it.

At the last moment, he lowered himself behind the top of the shield, the sound of the man grunted as it was directed over it where Coroths head was a moment prior. It drove onwards, and pierced into his wings instead. The pain lanced through the avriel with a sudden eruption of blood that pursued the spear from the other side of feathers and flesh.

It was then that the other man stepped in, a club bearing studs of metal hammered through it's end bashed into Coroth from behind as the sound of his boots were just a moment to be heard before the pain sent a concusion through his helm. A lapse of sound through a struggle of wind like noises upon his ears.

His helm wasn't the best he could acquire, yet was perhaps just enough to soak up some of the impact to keep his skull from splitting open. Perhaps the swing was too overextended to reach over the avriels wings. Regardless the avriel crumpled to the floor at their feet.

Their laughter hoarsely began echoing through the barn as they won, jests were made in a language he was still unfamiliar with. Yet their jests wove in and out of the focusing thoughts of his mind as he lost consciousness, then entered it again as blood clotted and dealt with the sudden smashed side of his head. There was then, a sudden torrent of pain that erupted through his wing as the spear was mercilessly jerked free. Yet, something had been tied onto it, and was tugged through the new hole.

A mockery of the avriels became their nature, their humor, their plight. A rope became discernably what was now in his wing. All the more so as it led to a hoist hanging from the thick wooden rafters above.

"Let's make him fly!" Some of the words were decipherable, their laughter tugging at the hammering of blood fighting to circulate through his brains.

Then one of the men began pulling at the other end of the rope, taking steps backward as needed as he began a tug of war with the light weight of the avriel. In moments, Coroth began panicking as he felt his wing becoming the center of his pain and cause of building torment. Blood was felt weighing the feathers from where the rope was taught against flesh and feathers.

Then his ears began to hear more than laughter as he listened to the weaving of the winds that were still there. Something he had become partially so used to that they were suddenly heard again, passing over his ears, and into his thoughts. As if the bleeding had reopened his senses, and caused them to come alive again all the more intensely.

It was then that he bade the use of his magic, the use of the winds that he centered himself to concentrate on. Attention was shifted to the man pulling his rope as his own feet suddenly left the ground. He had backed to stand nearly at the entrance of the barn. Above him a lantern hung by a rusted hook in the aperture of aged wood. Maybe no one noticed as the rope was led precariously close to it. Closer, and closer it was led.

Another shriek pierced the air as Coroth declared himself at a new level of pain through the torture they were introducing him to. A shriek that felt pass through the entirety of the barn and every pocket of air that was around him.

A curdling of pain and magic were fused through him to the spark within, and a sudden calamity of wind struck through the barn, causing the lantern to slide off of the hook. It swung through the air on its own accord, dropping on to the man below with a crash of glass, oil, and flame. Flames that erupted upon flesh that began to burn and cause the maniacal laughter to change to that of one seeking pity and aid from his companion as he began to burn alive.

[Coroth]

-‡- Undignifyingly the hanging avriel plummeted those few feet to the barns floor as the rope slid through the grasp of the enflaming man beyond. Glass shards had streaked across the man upon impact. A few jutting forth from his features with a glistening reflection. A reflection of the flames that were already dancing quickly along the flammable oil that was used to keep the lantern alight.

The mans tormentful outcries were much lower in tone than that of the avriels birdlike shriek. It screamed of the pain of searing flesh as it was felt burning. It also echoed of his humor foiled, ruined and some unspeakable justice being vented upon him being garnered.

Coroths' endurance was being tested by the number of wounds that were stacking upon his abilities to remain alive. Yet within him, he had a will to continue to live. A will that kept his eyes open and their lids fluttering away from closure so he could see. The rope was still laced through the wound at his wing. A bruise was still weighing upon his shoulder. And his cranium was telling him of the worst of headaches impending his ability to think beyond its continual beating within his skull.

It was in those moments that he sought to remain alive, and dreaded passing out near company that were bent on his death. They appeared to have been friends, or more than accomplices with the care that the fellow took to save the other. Any worry about the avriel coming after them was gone, a sprawled disfigurement of cerulean feathers and distraught limbs.

It was through a haze of delerium and his own pain that his vision became glazed, perhaps from his own tears of pain, that he saw something else pass before him. Another agile figure darted from within the barn, or another entrance of its large wooden chamber. A figure that was donned in a mud hued garmenture that rushed towards the man that was seeking to put out the flames to keep the other alive.

It was in another blur of movement, that Coroth watched as one of the weapons that had fallen on the ground had been taken up. The blade gleamed of a metal that reflected the flames in front of it while it twirled through the air with a thrust of soft arms. The mans back arced in a sudden response as his flesh was pierced, and muscles to organs inside were impaled as the blade sliced through him.

A feminine grunt exumed from the figure in that moment as she found herself unable to free the weapon, and hastily stepped backwards as the man fell onto his side, eager attempts to grasp at the weapon to pull it free were made before he found his own life taken away from him.

The other was meanwhile crumbling to his knees as the flames ate away at his face, disabling him from breathing, seeing. His friend had been helping him a moment prior, and more help had been anticipated, maybe he had stopped to get a bucket of water. But in those few moments when he had hoped to be saved, silence ensued for too long. His wait led to his death as he began to suffocate on smoke and burning flesh. And in moments, he died on the ground near his partner.

The agile feminine figure then rushed to Coroth, as she drew closer, through glazened hues he began to discern what could have been wings behind her, but were wings no more. One of those who had been diseased, had saved him. A convulsive tremor shook through him as another stinging reminder of his pains ran through him. They were soothed as her hands came upon his shoulders. A worrying few breaths wilted through her lips as she gave her attentions to his wing.

Her words came out in a lowered rush, in avriel, a language he finally understood.

"I must take out this rope..then we must hide..there are others here..more who do not like avriel..they will kill you..and me if they find me helping you."

Her voice was caring, yet urgent as if she was one familiar with the tasks of healing someone, as well as someone who could be of help to him in getting away. But first, her attentions went to the rope, the shortest of its ends was grasped, her eyes shifting to the pain laiden avriel in pity and silent hope that he'd forgive her for the pain she'd bring him.

Coroth in turn merely gazed at her in apprehension of what she must do. His thoughts vaguely thought at all as he gazed on his saviors grace of beauty that still had that of avriel traits along her cheeks and other smaller mesmerizing traits. He though, reminded himself of the pains of an arrow shaft being pulled from his wing only hours before hand.

A hand raggedly found his upper body, and patted himself down till he felt where a blade was sheathed in one of the harnesses along his waist. The hilt was brought to his mouth, and he sunk his teeth into the leathers of the grip.

Not a moment afterwards, she yanked the rope free, pulling and pulling until an end came into view. One she had cut in those blinding moments when he was searching for his own dagger. Then it came free with a splash of blood through the air and the plop of a blood soiled rope being flung to the hay layered ground beyond.

The hilt took the torrents of pain that he needed to scream out into the air for all to hear. Yet he was silenced, and kept from entering shock with breaths that were able to be slowed as the pain subsided. Coroth then felt himself being dragged from the ground. He was pulled onto her back by one of his arms as she crawled beneath his upper body enough to heft him up, then she began to drag him from the barn.

In the distance, he could not determine where exactly, voices were heard coming from the other side of some buildings. Perhaps where the caravan had been parked, and guards had been on duty to protect their merchandise.

The softness of the avriel woman beneath him became like a haven through his pain to feel and think about instead of his wounds. Instead of the loss of blood and that which needed to be tended to when they were safe to do so. She half-carried him from the barn, and across the street towards where other huts and buildings darkly stood in eery quietness.

Suddenly, a few others darted forth from the darkened shadows of the hovels across the street. Just a few, who rushed to help carry Coroth into the darkness before anyone else would know or see of them. He barely had enough energy left to take the shallowest of steps to help carry his weight. Many of his steps were felt being dragged against the ground, yet he tried. They dragged by the woman beneath him and the others who took him into their arms as they could, encouraging him to keep on his feet.

In moments, through the last vestiges of his endurance and will to survive, they led him to an undecipherable hovel nestled amongst the others. Its shutters closed, and a dim light awaiting them within like its neighbors. He was led within, and laid down so she could drag him in the rest of the way. Care was felt being given to his wings to see that they made it through the door, and would not wound him further, or leave traces of blood if they hit it.

The last of what Coroth could recall was the beauty of her features as she returned her gaze to him as she pressed the thick wooden door forwards into its' frame. The others had slipped out of it the moment prior, perhaps to tend to the other avriel still in the barn. A glaze of sorrow for him filling her features, as his lids closed, and he lost himself from consciousness, she rushed towards him.