#ofdox

[oxthsworn]

@ofdox

       He could tell he’d been pushing himself too far. He could feel it burning in his blood, yet still he could not stop. There was still one, he’d assumed would have fled with the sword embedded within it’s spine. Maybe that was preventing it. Regardless, it was the last Manticore to remain and to say exhaustion was leaving it’s toll upon him was an understatement. But that would not be the thing that stopped him in his duty. Not on a day like today. They’d lost enough, and the beast was already wounded. 

     In his haste, however, he forgot one of those golden rules. A cornered beast was far more deadly than one with bravado.

       “You ready, Dox?” His yell rang out clearly, feeling the weight of the blade in his hands. He’d lost his own weapons in teh haste, forgoing his usual single handed blades in favour of a claymore. He’d blame the unfamiliar weight for the tremble in his hands, not that he was scared to put too much pressure upon where the igni sign was practically seared in to his skin from overuse.

[lordxexile]

[ 🌊 ] ——— @ofdox

At this point, their wails were a dull thrum inside Zahir’s ear --------- though nonetheless held the same weight that seemed to keep them into this pressing dread that he could only grunt on as he pushed his body into the rhythm of his sprint. Closer. Closer to where their deep cries were resounding. Or so he thought. A hard thud and Zahir’s disheveled form stumbled against the wall with the skid that he forced himself into as the shadow had him encumbered from overhead. Quick. But it was more than enough for him to know that a manticore just passed over him as it hauled itself over the rooftops --------- and with what breath that he took, a hiss where rough air filled his lungs, he pushed himself from the corner that kept him safe from the debris and tailed on. Foolish as it was, these things are not going to kill themselves… and they weren’t showing any signs of actually easing off and back up to where they came from --------- all the more reason for him to see to the task.

Breathe. He knew what was waiting at the end of the alley. That with his ivory-pale bow at the ready, Zahir pushed himself once more into a sprint, the trace against the farther wall and turned to the direction where, sure enough, the beast was already wreaking havoc. Wings spread. Now. Zahir hissed. Pull. Fly. A whistle in the wind, and the two arrows surged through as they sought to find home at a joint where it was surely least protected by its hide. And with a glint, silver and iron—and that brawny form paired with that fiery beard that every tavern wench knows—Zahir eased back to a safe distance as the disgruntle of the beast gave him an opening to call out.

          “Master Mackay! -------- have you seen any of the princes!”