@darehearts / starter call.
HOT ELECTRIFIED STEEL SQUELCHES UPON THE BLACKENED HEAP BEFORE HIM, drawing a raucous cry from the beast before it fell limp into the mud. arthur huffs, leaving his sword embedded to bone and skin as he rakes bloodstained hands through his hair. brunette locks flounder in such aggression, and he inveigles every dastardly fiber in his being not to pull at it in frustration, yanking strand by strand with ire and malice. ash and smoke charred at his lungs. his coughs echo into the sudden quiet before he spits the excess ichor from his mouth and looks about. no other beasts had followed. good - he wasn't quite sure if he had the strength for any more.
brown eyes dull on his victim ( victims, for several [ MANY ] other black masses remained seared into the floor ) watching as the contorted body now sizzles against pavement ( OTHERLY in the bones, poisonous and vengeful ). the slayer is perplexed, mainly that such an ugly wraith would wander this close to the capital. and NOT ALONE, to be exact. the monstrous spirits roamed in gaggles and, seemingly compelled, they drew dangerously close to outskirts of the city walls. it is not a common threat to these parts, that much he knows for sure. and with the thought of unusual behaviors still lingering, arthur supposes the people were lucky he was out here at all, able to handle the mess himself like any other road bump along his travels. though, the detour is mostly unappreciated ; a feeling of death looming, icy and cold as if the breath of ghosts fell harsh upon his back - he felt UNCLEAN and, in the burning of his accursed mark, he is reminded that he is running out of time.
running, running, running. he groans something vulgar and reaches for his blade again.
it is a clean exit from the monster whose black blood stains at his weapon. he wipes the vigor against his already soiled pants and sheaths himself. there were lots of other feelings he had besides fury and exhaustion ; mainly, pain in all forms, from the throbbing of his head to the singing of his lungs. the deep searing at his left side pulsates, increasing with each shift of weight as he takes a few steps back from the body at hand. his fingers draw to the wound, noting in irritancy that they will pull back with fresh, dark blood smeared across the skin. great - just, great.
hooves beating against the road catch him unawares after a long moment and, pulling himself away from thoughts of full-bodied anger ( THE AUDACITY ; and he is struggling both under stress and weariness not to unleash HELLFIRE onto the meaningless dirt below his feet ), he turns to face the open lane. someone approaches, quickly, with mighty steed in fast gait, and the best he can do is waive a red hand in the air to stop the man from passing.
“ hey !! it's dangerous here ; you should go back. ” the slayer calls hoarsely. the man slows to a meager gallop before him. the first thing he notices is the golden branding of a crest and, in bewilderment, arthur's brown eyes widen at the sight. a noble ?? out here, in the middle of nowhere ?? he does not recognize the family name ( he is not from these parts, after all - it would be hard for him to understand ) but, after a moment of silence, he realizes it actually doesn't matter who this man claimed to be. it was dangerous out here regardless, especially for a noble, and most certainly with a few more of those wraiths lingering about.
rolling his shoulders with a hushed hiss of the tongue, arthur staggers, the heat at his side violently thrashing against his ribcage. the longer he stood around thinking, the more he began to regret getting involved at all. and the headache ; he is surprised he is still on two feet as the world begins to spin around him. “ there are creatures in the night that rile in earnest, ” he mumbles a warning, cursing his sudden slur. “ you should - try to cross in the morning. ”