She’s clambering along rooftops, determined to keep the hiring ground, following the green flare as the grave robber tries to corral the invaders toward the deserted half of the Hamlet, riddled with more traps than she’s ever encountered at once, even in this damned estate. She ducks and weaves and dodges debris and flame and shot, and finally, finally, finally she’s in sights. There it sits, just between view of two buildings and a lot of smoke, a huge hulking thing pushed by blue-glowing, shambling, absolutely possessed looking creatures that she supposes were once men. It doesn’t matter. She selects a bow and it’s warm to the touch.
She loads. She aims. She fires.
The wind shifts, and she can’t see well, and the arrow misses its shot. It ricochets off the side of the cannon and thwacks one of the pushers as it bursts into flames.
Missandei curses. She’s not close enough. She has to be right on it–her shot must be perfect.
She sets on the move again.
They’re sending up flares in combat, and for each pinprick of green he starts to see, he has a map of where to find living, breathing bodies. The Hamlet’s a tiny town, built on an advantageous hill, and the old commander, the old fucking dog himself, had stood proud on that hill, surrounded by a pack of screaming, howling brigands. Vvulf didn’t stick around to watch. There’s more to be done and the cannon fodder could preface him.
His boots are heavy, and crack the earth where he steps. The town’s in chaos, the ring of the damned bells constant.
The cannon needs to move. It was stuck at a rubble infested street, and Tilly was nowhere to be found.
There’s not a sound but the thump of his feet on this street. Two mercenaries, in ragtag garb savoring a quick victory over two of his boys, looked up to the towering shadow.
One aimed a gun at him and he snorted, lowering his head behind the shield and breaking into a sprint. The full weight of the shield met both men, and the wall behind it, turning them into bone-ridden paste. The foundation shook with the force of the blow. He heard a scream inside.
And then the silence was broken with a tink. Metal on metal.
Vvulf rose his heavy, malformed face up, and his lips peeled back in a snarl. Cutting a shadow like a bird alight, there was a woman with a bow, firing arrows at a cannon.
He stared her in the eyes, and laughed, shaking the innards off the shield. His front was severed almost completely through. As if he’d been cleaved in half and it didn’t take.
“What are you doing, girl?” he spat, already moving, leaping onto a smaller roof, and slamming his hands into the stone for footholds. He could get her in seconds.
She can’t outrun him. And high ground didn’t matter.
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