(Post written by Script)
It was late in the day by the time the haggard group of Patronus broke from the forest and onto the plain that separated the trees from the city of Amarathia. Scratches, bruises and cuts had been added to the already wretched looking group, and they practically staggered out into the open.
All were exhausted, and even Luriel was beginning to show it. Peregrin practically collapsed onto the grass at the prospect of a break, and Gawyn slumped down onto a rock, resting his head in his hands. Seridur sank to the ground, setting Elias down, and let out a deep sigh.
Sylvire herself leant heavily upon her staff, the tangled knots of her hair falling over her eyes, caked with mud. Soon, she thought. Soon they would be able to rest in the city. That must keep them going.
“We ought not to stop here.” Sylvire said, “We’d be better off continuing till we reach the city. Then we can truly rest.”
Peregrin let out a groan, dragging a hand through his hair, but he pulled himself to his feet. “Alright, then.” He murmured, and with similar murmurs of reluctant agreement the group trudged onwards. As they progressed across the plains, they remained grimly silent. Eventually reaching the main road toward the city, Sylvire decided that it was too late to worry about being followed easily, and that the ease of travel was the utmost priority.
As luck would have it, after only a few minutes on the road, the trundling of a cart became audible, and Sylvire turned to see a farmer travelling down the road to bring his wares to market in the city. As he approached them, however, his eyes widened in recognition.
“By the light!” he exclaimed, reigning his horses to a halt, “Lady Nasazura! And Prince Gawyn... what in the name of the light..?”
The man was clearly shocked to see the resplendent Patronus in such a state, and truth be told Sylvire did not blame him. But she had no time to explain. “Please, sir. Might we ride in your cart? We have walked far, and we need to reach the city as quickly as we can.” She appealed.
“B- but of course! It would be an honour to serve, my Lady!” the man stammered, hastily jumping down and shoving around his produce to create space for them. As one by one they staggered onto the cart, the man looked to Sylvire. “May I ask what has you so harrowed, my lady?”
The sorceress shook her head. “The less you know the better, good man. Please, just take us.”
Reluctantly the farmer nodded, and climbed back up. With a crack of the whip, the cart resumed motion. Sylvire leant back against the wood of the vehicle and sighed heavily. Every muscle in her body ached, every heartstring she had had been plucked to exertion.
She felt empty.
“Sylvire?”
Blinking, Sylvire looked to the source of the voice. Peregrin was pointing down the road, and with dread the sorceress followed his hand. A cloud of dust was visible back on the plains. As Sylvire narrowed her eyes at it, she could make out a figure at its head, the dust being kicked up as he ran at shocking speeds after them.
Cursing, Sylvire looked to the oblivious farmer. “We need to go faster!” she shouted, “We are being pursued!”
With a start, the farmer turned around to look behind himself, and followed Sylvire’s gesture. His eyes widened with fear, and he cracked the whip again, shouting to the horses to move. The ride of the wagon became rough as it thundered over the road, but still the figure was gaining.
Then a figure stepped past Sylvire, and before she could even shout, Luriel had jumped down from the cart. The dark elf rolled as she hit the ground, and even as she rose up a crossbow pistol was in her hand. The bolt shot forth towards the approaching figure, missing him by a few inches.
Sylvire glanced down at the floor of the wagon, and saw that Luriel had left the boomstick behind. A precaution. Nothing more than a precaution, Sylvire reassured herself.
Luriel fired off a second shot from her crossbow, it too missing the rapidly zigzagging man, before discarding the weapon. As he neared, the man pulled from his back a large bow, and seemingly without trouble despite his speed, nocked an arrow to it. Luriel did not wait around for him to aim. Darting forwards, she began to close on him as quickly as he ran toward her, drawing her sword and dagger.
The distance narrowed quickly as the two sprinted, before in a moment they crossed over. If you blinked, you would have missed it. Each slowed to a halt a short distance from the crossing point, panting.
With a groan, the archer sank to the ground, blood seeping from the wound in his chest, sword and dagger of the assassin plunged straight through his chest and still embedded there. He slumped, and lay still. Luriel herself turned back to face the disappearing cart, a small smirk on her face.
And then she fell. The arrow in her stomach snapped as she hit the ground.
Sylvire clenched her fist as Luriel fell to the archer’s arrow, her breath escaping her lips. Peregrin buried his face in his arms and tucked his knees to his chest. Gawyn placed an arm over the younger boy’s shoulders to offer comfort, but it was clear the prince was at the edge too.
Elias clung on to Sylvire as she sat there, and she put an arm around her son sadly. “I wanna go home.” He whispered.
“We’re going home, sweetheart.” Sylvire replied softly, “In a sense.”
The cart thundered between Amarathia’s gates, drawing attention from the crowds as it skidded to a halt inside. As it did so, Sylvire stepped down from the cart and shouted to the nearest guard.
“Alert the council and the guard captains! The city will be under attack before long, as it was before! The Patronus require sanctuary, those of us that still live, and may the light have mercy on the ruler who denies us in our time of need...”
