Daz Proudwolf

[kwirl]

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* Becaause of my characters low level, i *
* will be writing this in brief parts at a *
* time, at irregular intervals *
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Daz Proudwolf, <+>Knight of the Northlands<+>
1>


Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

The barbarian frowned slightly as the incessant noise caught his attention. Glancing over his shoulder, he realized he had been trailing blood for some time. The battle with the troll had been his, but victory had not been simple. His back was open from the upper right shoulderblade, torn diagonally downwards toward his left hip. Not the only wound, merely the worst of many, it hardly troubled the looming figure only because he feared now that he would draw attention. The death-birds circled above, waiting to feast in his funeral.

Had he been healthy, he would have let loose a mighty cry, to show the vultures that their meal would not be shared this day.

He was not, however, near healthy. His mind danced from thought to thought, images paraded in his sight and vanished with a whisper of reality. Ilisynthia . . . struck down by a wandering wizard in the Thunderpeak Mountains. The battle with a band of half-orcs that left his beloved Katya dead. Most recently, his brother Rolk, killed in a ferocious battle with a party of drow on a surface raid.

The drops of blood were coupled soon with a trail of tears that fell unknowing from the distraught barbarian. Ignoring his pain and sorrow, he trailed forward into the woods, headed south. Away. From all the pain. The death. One foot followed another, step after step carrying the mighty warrior for miles. It could not go on indefinitely, and soon, one foot followed no more, he crumpled to a heap on the road – and his world went black.
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A stirring noise, the sound of glass on steel. Warrior instincts flooded the wakening barbarian’s mind, but fatigue still held a firm grip.

A voice from the dark, “This one will not live to see the sun rise, I fear.”

Another voice, a woman’s voice, “I shall care for him.”

With an effort, his eyes opened slowly. Quickly the blur of images in the room focused on a shape standing over the prone warrior. A tall, powerful human woman, with eyes of blue fire, and hair of mithril luminosity, he inhaled powerfully, certain death stood before him. She was adorned in a spotless suit of white platemail, of a quality the warrior had never known to exist. Slung over her shoulder was a long, golden blade with an ivory hilt. Unable to concentrate further, he soon returned his attention to the human woman. He looked at her eyes, and did not see the cold glare of a warrior. His stare was returned by a look of confidence and compassion. Her hands touched his forehead, and before the dark returned, a smile from her lips followed the injured barbarian into his tranquility.



[This message has been edited by kwirl (edited 07-27-2001).]