Timothy Arden's Story

"I'm fine, go help the others." These were not the words you would expect to be spoken by Timothy, especially in his current state. His arms burnt with strain. The scabbard of his blade caused him to wince every step it bounced against his wet, sticky back. Yet even so he was in the best condition of all of the out party and he hefted the most injured alongside another. The weight dragged down on his worn body, like a beckoning to death. Despite the cold, he could feel the heat of his life blood being stolen away by the mountain chill. Even the guards that attended to him and the others seemed far away and lost beneath the haze of the lethargy. Even his own, grating voice was obscured. The lift of the body from his arms was like joyful ecstasy and it was exposed in a sigh of salvation. The strain taking off from his body he dropped to his knees, exhausted. Time seemed to slow in the darkness behind his closed eyelids the few moments of stillness dragged on forever. The recent battle haunted the darkness as well, the creatures of death and terror were never easy to remove. Finally voices broke through to him. The guards had now turned their attention to him.

He looked about with distant grey eyes, lifting his arm to grasp the support offered. He pulled himself unsteadily to the feet and pushed away the help. Somewhere in his uncertain consciousness he knew he had made it this far in worse circumstances, he could make the rest of the distance himself. He staggered up the path towards the awaiting sanctuary alongside his injured teammates and those on guard duty. It only made sense to use students and ex-students for at least a proportion of the protection force, considering the likely foes. Most security forces wouldn't be so eager with a job description that states battling creatures that most people don't believe exist and normal humans have less then have of a chance against. The door rose up, awaiting to engulf the returning party. Timothy couldn't be glad they returned, they had failed. Almost at the cost of their life, it was only providence they escaped.

Then, once again, Timothy took up the burden of their fallen comrade. The guards couldn't properly leave their posts. So instead it once again fell to himself to bear the wounded towards the hospital facilities. Already the team leader and the free soldier had split off, no doubt to report their failure. The young man had to control himself to prevent his grip tightening, not keen on causing more damage. They had failed, he had failed. Once again he had proven that he wasn't good enough, he couldn't live up to his tasking. He was a soldier, he was meant to kill the creatures of the dark that threatened humanity. Instead, he nearly lost his own life and those of his team. At least they all returned alive, however lose that term was. Reaching the hospital wing the medical staff were ready and waiting. Rushing and moving himself and the others about to treatment. The young man himself had his shirt stripped off and disposed of. The rips and blood stains rendering it useless, he expected the chill of the outside against his bare, muscled flesh. Instead it was the room was warmed to be comfortable. Timothy didn't like it, he wanted the feel of a cool breeze instead of more warmth. It felt like the congealing blood against his back. However, whichever temperature, its sensation and the the cleaning of his wounds reminded him he was alive.

Timothy sat silently, he had been tended to and bandaged up with the administration of a little pain killers before being left to recover on his own. In the end there wasn't any serious injuries that couldn't be tended to by time. Their attentions were better used elsewhere, in fact Timothy insisted it would be so. He knew the basics, keep the bandages and wound clean, avoid exercise and anything that could reopen the injuries. He still didn't feel well enough to remove himself from the infirmary, he could hardly summon the ability to stand. That was more mental then physical, he knew he could stand and support himself but his every muscle felt lethargic. So it was he sat on a white bed, watching the nurses and doctors attend to the others particularly around the critically wounded Jones. He didn't feel particularly odd, his torso wrapped in white strips of fabric. He sat and mulled over whatever happened but it was still a mass of chaos in his mind. It happened so fast and violently all that kept him alive was instinct. It wasn't good enough he reminding himself, looking up towards Jones'. Hands clasped before him weakly. He watched as Anna arrived, making such a fuss about seeing him, her voice filled with concern.

Timothy's head dropped and he let a growl escape from his lips. He could have done better, he should have done better. There was no true regret, only anger. Towards himself, towards the creatures that assaulted them. He wanted to do something but he was incapable, in such a state he was in. His already frowning features set into a snarl, fighting his exhausted body. Pushing himself to a stand, he couldn't just sit there doing nothing. Even though he had nothing to do, the others had already reported back and from then on the group would probably be disbanded. If there were no injuries they would merely return to their schooling or however they filled their time. Of course in this case that couldn't happen. So instead the young mans attention was caught by the quiet coming from Jones direction. He stood and watched the talk, too far away to hear anything but it was obvious that they were close. He had been dangerously wounded when Timothy took the chance to deliver some first aid. It had been several hours and long trip and his condition could only have worsened. Arden watched the victim hand the girl something, a book? He couldn't really tell but he couldn't help but feel it was a sign that there wasn't time left.

With that thought, Timothy couldn't cope with his anger. Snatching his sword and wincing a little at the sudden movement, he stormed from the hospital ward. Most nurses and doctors were busy elsewhere and it was known that he was well enough to leave. Outside the room he allowed himself to vent the rage. A roar ripped from his chest, a hand ramming a nearby wall. With that singed explosion he felt slightly calmer. Luckily the corridor was empty so his action went unnoticed except by another who had just left the room. Timothy turned to notice Anna, an observer to his outburst. He took a breath to calm himself more before moving over towards her. Hopefully she wouldn't be too disturbed. They didn't know each other, although he did at least know who she was.
"Sorry about that." He voice still carried an edge but his words were sincere. "I'm sorry about Jones too, that I couldn't do more for him." He gave a pause before continuing. "Were you close? What was that he gave you?" It was simple curiosity, what his team mate's last actions were. Perhaps something worthwhile, a kind of redemption.

Timothy nodded in agreement with her, Jones was certainly exceptionally skilled with a blade. That he was the one to fall was a testament to the ferocity of the attack, but no excuse.
"It was the same here, although he wasn't the only one." There was still a slight in his words, as if the lost of a skilled rival angered him. Possibly one could misinterpret. He mutated sadness to anger but it was not true that he felt no sorrow. "I bested him once, but that was sparring and we bent the rules a little. I outlasted him." He stopped, realizing the poor choice of words. Once again he had outlasted Jones but in this case it may have been the last time. He watch Anna careful, prepared to apologize if he had overstepped some boundary. She seemed ready to break apart. His comment about the book even seemed to surprise her, as if her thoughts were occupied else where.

He noticed her glancing at his hand, red still adorning the area that make contact with the unyielding wall. He shook his head.
"Don't worry about me, I'm okay. You could say I've been through worse." Even though the lines were slightly humorous the boy's tone didn't inflect that. His heart wasn't into lightening the situation. Rolling his shoulders to test his back he proved his point. A little numbness in his hand couldn't really contend with the sharp pain of rent flesh. "Well, he gave it to you. I suppose its yours to read. I won't intrude, unless there is something relevant to us in there. I'll see you again." He couldn't quite leave with a smile, not in this situation. So it was almost a awkward moment as he turned and walked off, wrapped in bandages and carrying his sword and weapon harness in one hand.

Timothy couldn't sleep, not that it was night when people usually slept. He had more then enough excuse however. His muscles dropped from fatigue, any strength and energy burned out by dragging his corpse and Jones' body back from their mission. After returning to his room he attempted to let his body rest, his mind could not. Every time he lets his eyelids drift shut, recollections and imaginations painted themselves in the darkness. Screams and horrors keeping him from sleep. Instead he could only lie, letting time filter away, and give his body a chance to rest. When the dullness overwhelmed he took to wandering, exploring the halls and corridors he knew well enough anyway. He ignored the curious looks at his slightly shattered features. Although freshened and clean the red scratches and purple bruises stood out marvelously. It wasn't the worse of his injuries, as the bandages hidden beneath his clothing suggested.

He walks took him through the cafeteria multiple times, each subsequent visit providing yet another cup of coffee and a light meal to accompany the feast he had consumed his first visit. This was his fifth foray and he supposed that if it wasn't for his tell-tale condition and the rumors already circulating he would've been bared from further consumption. Word of the failed excursion and the conditions of those who were on it. Many were largely exaggerated; Several deaths; Infection and turnings; Betrayal. None really strayed close to the terror of what happened, the sight of the dead, undead and the adrenaline of fighting and running for your life. Timothy never made eye contact with those watching him with several expressions, he didn't really know as he didn't look. It was a relief to see someone who's attention wasn't on himself. Yet it was curious that the person in particular was familiar.

The girl from earlier, the one with the journal. Jones' friend. Timothy paused for a moment, he was curious about what the book had said. He wondered if she had yet checked it. In a way he felt he should also withdraw his request to know. It seemed they were close, she may prefer to feel that whatever was passed on to her was a little more special between the two. A favour to the dead. A favour the Timothy knew he owed. The moments of hesitation that most likely brought this upon them. At the very least he ought to know her name and let her know his. He moved over to the table where she was gather in what seemed almost conspiring nature. He set the coffee down on the table. His eyes boasted dark rims of lethargy and there was no joy in his dull frown. However he squeezed out a kind enough greeting.

"Hello again." He addressed Anna but his gaze passed over the other three and nodded politely to each of them in turn. "I would think you heard about Jones?" His voice dropped as he brought up the man and he looked away with a little sadness.
"We never introduced ourselves. I'm Timothy Arden, a soldier. I hope you don't mind me joining you." The later phrase was addressed to the group as a whole, although he expected they wouldn't find him contributing to the conversation. He waited for a dismissal before setting down his coffee cup and taking a place opposing the girl next to one of the others.

Timothy was glad when the general consensus allowed him to remain. He actually recognized some of the faces, just people he had spotted before and otherwise had no connection with. The academy wasn't the biggest institution, the clients awere difficult to come by. It seemed that these people were friendly enough and they didn't particularly seem to hold anything against him for no reason, as some people seemed to. Either they ignored the rumors for what they were or they hadn't heard. He chose to hope for the former. There were far better vibes emanating from them then from himself. They seemed at least a little cheerful. Timothy wasn't, his mood had improve but a sour after taste remained, poisoning his countenance and leaving him unmistakably dour. He didn't try to paste a smile on his face either, he probably wouldn't get away with it anyway.

Anna's query piqued Arden's interest.
I expect you would like to know if I took a look at the book?" She said, seeming brought back down by the mention of her friend. Again Timothy felt the conflict of interests, Anna's personal feelings and his own curiosity. It seemed the situation was weighted against him. Seeing as she brought up the subject around others indicated that she was willing to share it. Also Timothy couldn't help but assume that whoever the others were, Viktor and Callen, they knew already. Still he felt bad, prying into what seemed like personal details.
Well if you are willing to tell the, yes..." Timothy dropped off, as if looking for something more to say. Yet all that he could think off drifted back to the village, Jones' death, his own fault. None of those would be a welcome subject to bring up so the young man left off, awaiting a reply.