02-27-2017, 09:52 PM
“Hurry, hurry. There is no time to lose!” urged Roland, his boots meeting the floor with sure and quick steps despite the darkness obscuring his every stride. He moved in sync with Burgess, the two of them working to drag along the still much incapacitated Piers by gripping under his shoulders. The boy’s feet moved every once in a while, as one acting out their dreams is bound to twitch and jerk, catching against the ground with a sharp scuff that put a definite jilt in their procession, but other than that he remained mostly dead to the world, mouth mumbling nonsense as his head hung limp against his chest.
Running up ahead of them was Smith, his dark clothing and height cutting an impressive figure in the gloom, sliver sabre skimming toward every echo or shadow unaccounted for. He nosed around the path that lay ahead of the other three like a bloodhound, sword at the ready and his eyes and ears straining to catch any signs of danger, no matter how stealthily subtle they might have been. The shambling, shuffling steps of those behind him were only loose noise, constant as the thump-thumping of his own heart in his chest, the stale air almost stifling in its moldy stillness.
An abrupt sound ground their procession to a halt: coughing, harsh and rattling so deep in the chest that Smith’s own lungs felt heavy with sympathy. With unbelievable soreness due to his own injuries, Smith turned his feet to retrace the path they had so recently tread, scanning over his shoulder once more before rejoining the others.
Piers’s feverish, trembling form was swiftly laid out on the stones, Roland ensuring that his neck and head settled comfortably across his lap and Burgess leaning forward to get a look at his unconscious, slack face, dabbing at the blood dribbling from between his almost blueberry-blue lips with a gloved hand. A bright sheen of sweat glistened on Smith’s brow as he leaned over Burgess’s shoulder to see the reason for their stopping, hissing sharply between his teeth as he took the damage in.
“By the realms,” he breathed. The kid’s chest caved in with every feeble breath, eyelids fluttering dully with the impression of deep sleep. There was still an alarming amount of blood slicking across his forehead, having trickled forward from the base of his skull. “Do you reckon he’ll last much longer?”
Burgess bit his lip. “I don’t know, but we have to keep moving… if we don’t, he will surely die. At least when we reach our supplies he’ll have a chance, if only a very slight one.”
“What? Then why the hell did we stop?” Smith turned the brunt of his glare on Roland, and yet this didn’t prevent Burgess from flinching at his tone all the same.
“Hush!” Roland said. His ordinarily cheerful face seemed lifeless and grey, a bone-deep dread wallowing in his gaze, weltering into sharp, dark shadows that tracked across his cheekbones. “Do you hear that?” he asked quietly, a hint of caution in his words as he glanced between the other two.
Smith frowned and shook his head. He didn’t hear anything strange, other than the natural cavernous echoes and subtle sighing of the earth. In fact, there wasn’t any noteworthy noise in the decrepit hall but the sound of their labored breathing. What on earth is that whackadoodle Roland banging on about, now?
“Yeah,” said Burgess, bloodshot eyes suddenly stretched wide. “What is that?”
If at all possible, Smith’s frown deepened even further. Great, now Burgess had sidled up onto the bandwagon of hearing noises that didn’t exist, as well. Still, the man reasoned, might as well listen for a bit and see if their apparent auditory hallucinations were of any stock...
A weighted silence fell in the hall. The three men stood stock-still in the darkness, a trio of motionless, crouched shadows. Smith tilted his head to the side, eyes narrowing as he focused on a furrow in the far rock wall.
Then, he heard it. It was a clipped, choppy rhythm, like a woodpecker’s beak drilling against the trunk of a tree or the hollow knocks of firewood logs spilling onto a cobbled street. Like the cracking and popping of an old farmer’s joints in the foggy hours of the morning. It was faint, yes, but so persistent in its repetition that it became impossible to ignore once he had at last acknowledged it. Almost like a...
Realization hit. Smith’s eyes widened, round and flashing like a pair of shiny silver coins.
Tick- tick- tick- tick- tick.
Tock!
“Get down!” he bellowed, seizing onto Burgess’ collar and shielding him just as the cavern exploded.
Running up ahead of them was Smith, his dark clothing and height cutting an impressive figure in the gloom, sliver sabre skimming toward every echo or shadow unaccounted for. He nosed around the path that lay ahead of the other three like a bloodhound, sword at the ready and his eyes and ears straining to catch any signs of danger, no matter how stealthily subtle they might have been. The shambling, shuffling steps of those behind him were only loose noise, constant as the thump-thumping of his own heart in his chest, the stale air almost stifling in its moldy stillness.
An abrupt sound ground their procession to a halt: coughing, harsh and rattling so deep in the chest that Smith’s own lungs felt heavy with sympathy. With unbelievable soreness due to his own injuries, Smith turned his feet to retrace the path they had so recently tread, scanning over his shoulder once more before rejoining the others.
Piers’s feverish, trembling form was swiftly laid out on the stones, Roland ensuring that his neck and head settled comfortably across his lap and Burgess leaning forward to get a look at his unconscious, slack face, dabbing at the blood dribbling from between his almost blueberry-blue lips with a gloved hand. A bright sheen of sweat glistened on Smith’s brow as he leaned over Burgess’s shoulder to see the reason for their stopping, hissing sharply between his teeth as he took the damage in.
“By the realms,” he breathed. The kid’s chest caved in with every feeble breath, eyelids fluttering dully with the impression of deep sleep. There was still an alarming amount of blood slicking across his forehead, having trickled forward from the base of his skull. “Do you reckon he’ll last much longer?”
Burgess bit his lip. “I don’t know, but we have to keep moving… if we don’t, he will surely die. At least when we reach our supplies he’ll have a chance, if only a very slight one.”
“What? Then why the hell did we stop?” Smith turned the brunt of his glare on Roland, and yet this didn’t prevent Burgess from flinching at his tone all the same.
“Hush!” Roland said. His ordinarily cheerful face seemed lifeless and grey, a bone-deep dread wallowing in his gaze, weltering into sharp, dark shadows that tracked across his cheekbones. “Do you hear that?” he asked quietly, a hint of caution in his words as he glanced between the other two.
Smith frowned and shook his head. He didn’t hear anything strange, other than the natural cavernous echoes and subtle sighing of the earth. In fact, there wasn’t any noteworthy noise in the decrepit hall but the sound of their labored breathing. What on earth is that whackadoodle Roland banging on about, now?
“Yeah,” said Burgess, bloodshot eyes suddenly stretched wide. “What is that?”
If at all possible, Smith’s frown deepened even further. Great, now Burgess had sidled up onto the bandwagon of hearing noises that didn’t exist, as well. Still, the man reasoned, might as well listen for a bit and see if their apparent auditory hallucinations were of any stock...
A weighted silence fell in the hall. The three men stood stock-still in the darkness, a trio of motionless, crouched shadows. Smith tilted his head to the side, eyes narrowing as he focused on a furrow in the far rock wall.
Then, he heard it. It was a clipped, choppy rhythm, like a woodpecker’s beak drilling against the trunk of a tree or the hollow knocks of firewood logs spilling onto a cobbled street. Like the cracking and popping of an old farmer’s joints in the foggy hours of the morning. It was faint, yes, but so persistent in its repetition that it became impossible to ignore once he had at last acknowledged it. Almost like a...
Realization hit. Smith’s eyes widened, round and flashing like a pair of shiny silver coins.
Tick- tick- tick- tick- tick.
Tock!
“Get down!” he bellowed, seizing onto Burgess’ collar and shielding him just as the cavern exploded.
Quote:30,040/27,000
New to the Omniverse? Don't be afraid to PM me for assistance!
Gamzee Makara Wrote:S’aight. After all, dogs have a tendency to motherfuckin’ bite.