06-22-2017, 02:30 PM
It was a most ignominious defeat. But it was not over. There was still plenty of time and items for them to snatch up, despite their solemn silence of loss. There was a mutual, unspoken agreement to win the next one at all costs. Next time.
“Wait, don’t we have to go back to the safehouse?” Illidan brought up to Gildarts, something about the collar he distinctly remembered could bring them a swift and timely demise.
“For these?” Gildarts held up his bracelet and Illidan did the same, they chinked together like glasses to a cheers. “You’re right, let’s get going.”
Gil switched on his map app from Karl’s tablet while the two haggard Primes hobbled around. Illidan, over fifteen thousand years old, and Gildarts, middle-aged. Each lifetime felt like an eternity to them. Funny how a thing like time can be more draining than actual physical fatigue.
They were back in the forest. The fresh scent filling the air and then filling their lungs. To Illidan it stank of rank defeat, to Gildarts, well, it smelt like trees. “We should get some food in us when we get to the safehouse,” the mage proclaimed to the sorcerer, who would not call an M.R.E. food in any semblance of the word when he would find out just what it consisted of.
“Mage, your back is sliced like ribbons,” Illidan mentioned as he hung back to get a better look at the criss cross of battle scars and fresh slices. It was an informative announcement and one that would result in Gildarts requesting a first-aid stitch up.
But it wasn’t even the worst of his wounds, just the one that seemed to burn like acid with every step he took. The skin didn’t have a place to attach and stretch to, so with every step, the scabs that had formed tore with his muscular disposition. Gildarts was weary and thirsty, from his pocket he pulled out a glowing fluid and the bitter taste dribbled past his lips.
He felt only slightly rejuvenated. But for him, even a fraction could be made into a whole.
“Wait, don’t we have to go back to the safehouse?” Illidan brought up to Gildarts, something about the collar he distinctly remembered could bring them a swift and timely demise.
“For these?” Gildarts held up his bracelet and Illidan did the same, they chinked together like glasses to a cheers. “You’re right, let’s get going.”
Gil switched on his map app from Karl’s tablet while the two haggard Primes hobbled around. Illidan, over fifteen thousand years old, and Gildarts, middle-aged. Each lifetime felt like an eternity to them. Funny how a thing like time can be more draining than actual physical fatigue.
They were back in the forest. The fresh scent filling the air and then filling their lungs. To Illidan it stank of rank defeat, to Gildarts, well, it smelt like trees. “We should get some food in us when we get to the safehouse,” the mage proclaimed to the sorcerer, who would not call an M.R.E. food in any semblance of the word when he would find out just what it consisted of.
“Mage, your back is sliced like ribbons,” Illidan mentioned as he hung back to get a better look at the criss cross of battle scars and fresh slices. It was an informative announcement and one that would result in Gildarts requesting a first-aid stitch up.
But it wasn’t even the worst of his wounds, just the one that seemed to burn like acid with every step he took. The skin didn’t have a place to attach and stretch to, so with every step, the scabs that had formed tore with his muscular disposition. Gildarts was weary and thirsty, from his pocket he pulled out a glowing fluid and the bitter taste dribbled past his lips.
He felt only slightly rejuvenated. But for him, even a fraction could be made into a whole.
Quote:Gillidan moving from C5 to B15. Aiming for safehouse. Gil used 1 medi-gel on himself and drank 2 elixirs.
![[Image: -Gildarts-fairy-tail-35651033-300-180.gif]](http://images6.fanpop.com/image/photos/35600000/-Gildarts-fairy-tail-35651033-300-180.gif)
"I have never met a strong person with an easy past." -Atticus