Dragonlance, Age of Despair
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Dragonlance, Age of Despair

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 Crelsith the Baaz deserter.

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Crelsith
Hatchling
Hatchling



Posts : 5
Join date : 2011-05-25

Crelsith the Baaz deserter. Empty
PostSubject: Crelsith the Baaz deserter.   Crelsith the Baaz deserter. I_icon_minitimeFri Jun 10, 2011 3:19 am

The knights shield fiercely slammed against the side of Crelsith's snout, his teeth rattling from the ferocity of the blow. Being bashed in the face with metallic objects wasn't a new feeling to the Baaz, but it still hurt just as much now as it did the first time.

Crelsith staggered back from the blow, just barely keeping his balance as he teetered on the tips of his clawed feet. Green blood poured from the wound on his face as he tried to ascertain the movements of his attacker through the pain. His reflexes were too slow however, and he could only stare helplessly as the Solamnic knight's sword was thrust into his chest, piercing his armor and scales.

Instinctively, he grabbed the swords blade. Hundreds of times he'd had it drilled into his head...if you're impaled, grab the enemies weapon. That way, if you die and turn to stone, you'll trap the weapon inside you. The knight simply let go of the sword, resigned to the fact the Baaz was likely finished and trying to wrest his weapon free would be a futile waste of effort.

Crelsith wobbled on his feet, his vision blurry from the pain and blood in his eyes. He could hear his comrades, three of his fellow Baaz, still fighting the knight. By the sound of his brethren grunts and cries, it was not going well.

At last, Crelsith's legs gave out. He stumbled sideways before falling off the side of the road, sliding down into a ditch beneath some bushes. He could see nothing, could hear nothing. The thought that he was about to die overwhelmed him with fear, and in a final effort to avoid this fate, he gripped the blade of the sword imbedded in his chest and tore the weapon out of his body, tossing it to the side.

All of them had thought it was an easy mark. A merchant caravan, guarded by a single knight. One single knight. There had been four of them, all veteran warriors from the Blue Dragonarmy. When they had all deserted, there had been seven of them, but slowly their subsequent lifestyle as bandits and occasional mercenaries had picked them off. Life away from the Dragonarmies had proven harder than they'd expected.

But that knight...his armor had been far sturdier than they'd anticipated, and he knew how to use it in a way they simply hadn't encountered. Grabbing their weapons with his armored gauntlets, headbutting them with his helmet, even using his heavy plated boots to crush their toes. He didn't fight like any knight they'd seen before, and even all four of them together had been outmatched.

Crelsith could hear birds chirping in the woods, various tweets and calls seeming to leap between the trees. The thought that the last thing he was going to hear was going to be some gnatty birds filled him with annoyance, in no small part because he had a throbbing headache.

"Shaddup y' stupid birds!" He tried to yell, and much to his surprise...he succeeded. Though he wished he hadn't as his head now throbbed even worse. Slowly, he opened his eyes...and to his amazement, he was alive.

He didn't hear any signs of the battle, either. He glanced down at his chest wound and was shocked to see that it had closed. He pushed himself up, noticing that despite this awful headache, his injuries had mended. He turned his head to the side and looked to the knights sword that lie next to him. The blood, his blood, was long dry.

"Jus' how long was I out...? Only felt like a minute..." He picked up the knights sword, a bastard sword of beautiful design and excellent quality, and carried it with him as he climbed back up to the main road.

Glancing around, he saw no sign of either his fellow Baaz or the knight. The wagon tracks on the road seemed dull and aged, as though no wagon had passed through here for days. Crelsith reached up and ran his hands along his horns, thoroughly confused. Several days seem to have passed since he was struck down, and for a moment he simply marveled at the fact he was alive.

And yet he was now alone. If his comrades were even still alive, he had no idea where they would have gone nor the skills to track them. At a loss for what to do and carrying the beautiful sword that had nearly been his undoing, he turned down the road and began the long walk toward Solace. Perhaps he could find some kind of work there, as he did not like the idea of banditry by himself. Or perhaps someone would simply finish what the sword he carried had failed to do.

"At least they got booze in Solace." He muttered to himself as he trudged along, doing his utmost best to convince himself he wasn't afraid.

So far, he was failing.
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