Snippet #2715177

Zhyle had seen a fair bit of blood here and there. Watching the colosseum the past few days had seen to that at least. He had even seen his fair share of his own blood. Like that time he had fallen off of his horse when he was 11, leaving that scar on his scalp. Or that time he cut open his hand on the nail working on the barn, also known as the only time his father’s alcohol had come in handy at all. But this time… was slightly different. A cut from a blade was very, very different than any of those minor injuries he had sustained before. Because this time there was intent. This time, someone was actually trying to kill him.

And they were making a damn good job of it so far too.

He staggered through the alley outside the colosseum blindly, focusing on applying pressure to his gouged arm. His sword had been lost somewhere inside the concourse of the large structure, though the lump of iron hadn’t been much use against this swordswoman he had faced.

Her… Dammit he felt humiliated. He could tell just on her face that she had been shocked at how inept he really was with the blade on his hip, and it only took two passes of blows before she had scored her first hit on him. And the next couple of attempts had not fared much better, leaving Zhyle with a number of small gashes on his shoulders, chest and legs where he had clumsily attempted to block or parry. This had all culminated in the large gash on his left arm that he had stupidly flung up instinctively to protect himself to no avail.

It wasn’t all bad though. He was currently still breathing, albeit at a much more rapid pace than he would like. After their final pass Zhyle had been able to outrun the female fighter, catching her off guard as she gloated and taunted him. And upon reaching the entrance to the arena he thought he would be safe. She wouldn’t murder a man in broad daylight in the middle of the street right? He just had to stick to the crowds.

But dammit she did have a quick wit, Zhyle had to give her that. He had made up maybe a half dozen paces before she charged after him, screaming and accusing him of being an escapee from the arena. A dishonorable criminal that had killed a man and escaped from the melee to run away. And nobody that was in town would disbelieve her story, would they?

Zhyle grimaced, thinking about the likely scar on his left forearm as he attempted to staunch the trail of blood as he ran.