"Straight to Video" for Tristan
Send me ‘Straight to Video’ for your muse to see a tape containing one of my muse’s memories.
Stumbling back as the shield in his hand was struck. Hissing he threw out his arm, bring the shield with him and shoving his enemy, among the many that had surrounded him, along with his own people. Letting out a growl, blood and mud had long been splattered on his body, and face. Swinging the shield out he decked the male in front of him, sending another light spray of blood splattering onto his face. Pulling back then as he watched his opponent drop into the muddy rain soaked ground below, half of their face indented in from the strike received from the shield. Blood puddled out onto the ground, mixing with the mud. Blæingr watched the scene for a moment before turning and starting for another enemy.
Running toward them he grabbed the ax he had thrown earlier off the ground before whipping his arm back, taking that moment to find the point on the others body that he wanted to send the blade edge slicing into. It didn’t take him long and before he had even realized what his frenzied mortal mind could keep up with the ax had been buried into their shoulder, tearing through skin and sending a gush of blood down his victims chest and back. Pulling back he yanked the ax out as the fighter he had taken out with it began to fall to their knee’s grasping the ax before Blæingr pushed a foot into their spine and kicked them toward the ground, yanking the ax viciously from their shoulder as he had. Blood spurt out, spraying Blæingr legs as the body dropped into the mud, sending mud splattering onto his clothing as well.
With a few pants, Blæingr looked around, a wicked evil little smirk appearing on his mud and blood caked face, he was already searching out his next intended victim. Spotting them he took a step, only for an arrow to strike him in the side of the head. Blinking he stumbled, reaching up to grabbed at the embedded thing, not feeling that it had penetrated his skull he broke the shaft in half. Bringing the piece to the front of his face he continued to stare at it before hearing something coming from behind him. Turning he lift the ax up, blocking one of the villagers attempts to cut him with their sword. The eighteen year old however was not stronger than his attack and started to drop under their forceful pushing. Slipping on the mud he dropped to the ground, pushing with all his strength still on the ax that was keeping their ever inching closer sword from stabbing into him.
Unfortunately, that had only lasted so long before he became too exhausted and the sword began to cut through is chest blood spilled out as the cut became a cash. Screaming out Blæingr tried to demand his body lend him just a little more strength just for another few moments. He heard his name being screamed from only a few feet away, among the chaos. Glancing over he could see his mother charging for him, his father not far behind her, both cutting down anyone who got in their way. But they were too late in the end, the villagers sword thrust deep into his chest. Coughing, blood began to fill into his neck, choking him. He gasped for a moment. Weakly turning his eyes to face the man who had delivered the blow seeing how pleased they were to end his life.
Everything else slowly darkened them, images of his mother still trying to reach him had burned them self into his mind, his father pulling her away as they retreated, then there was nothing but darkness for what Blæingr had thought was an eternity. He was cold, and it was dark, he was alone, and he could feel it. Then there was a voice “This ones still alive, unbelievable.” He could could hear them moving toward him before another voice spoke up “Don’t kill him!”
“We can use him, to stop them.”
“Do you want to live.” Blæingr heard next, obviously not able to speak, and the world seemingly about to slip through his hands. Images continued to flash every now and again through his mind. Of his family, his siblings that he would never see again, his parents who were probably long gone. It made him feel sad, that he was so careless, that he would never see them again. To the voice, this was apparently the ‘yes’ they needed. Even if it wasn’t, they didn’t seem to care. Moments later there was a burning feeling dripping down his neck, mixed with the taste of rust. “Then so you will. And you will do as I say, criminal.” The voice spat, almost bitterly.