DistractingFlare
First Post
As the others slowly retreat to their quarters, Merit Thrast stands and walks slowly down the corridor to the entrance to Nikolieva's room. He stands in front of the door for a moment, then draws his short sword from its scabbard. He draws it back, then shoves it into the door with a crunch.
Within Daran's mind, he hears Nikolieva's voice.
"It's time. Come quickly."
Thrast pulls his blade roughly from the wood with a grunt, then slams it through the heavy door once again. His hand grips the sword so tightly that his palm drips with blood.
"Help," he murmurs. "I cannot..."
He draws the sword again, and doesn't even turn to face Daran when the half-elf rushes from around the corner.
The rest of you are roughly awoken by the noise, and the guards seem to have retired.
Within Daran's mind, he hears Nikolieva's voice.
"It's time. Come quickly."
Thrast pulls his blade roughly from the wood with a grunt, then slams it through the heavy door once again. His hand grips the sword so tightly that his palm drips with blood.
"Help," he murmurs. "I cannot..."
He draws the sword again, and doesn't even turn to face Daran when the half-elf rushes from around the corner.
The rest of you are roughly awoken by the noise, and the guards seem to have retired.