Her breaths were heavy, and her feet hit the ground hard with every running leap she took. Under her cloak, Amaimon carried something very special, a magical relic. When she was younger, she'd had the pleasure of seeing this particular relic up close and in action, and as a young child, it was an absolute marvel to see. it was called a Storyweaver, a simple contraption that held stories about the history of magic- accurate stories, at that. To Amaimon, that made this relic a desired cornerstone of magical history, for if she didn't live to tell stories about the time before the Ban, then this little contraption could.
Not only did this little thing hold stories, it could give physical manifestations of the stories it held, like holographs the stories would dance around the listeners, giving an in depth experience.
Amaimon's adrenaline coarsed through her veins as she ran through the streets on the outskirts of the city. She'd managed to sneak into the catacombs under the city with ease, but upon trying to exit with a bag of relics Amaimon had been spotted. The Storyweaver was the only relic she'd managed to not drop during the chase, and she would definitely put her life on the line for it. She looked over her shoulder briefly, gasping as an arrow whizzed by her face, leaving a small cut on her cheek. She turned her gaze ahead, finally finding the spot she'd entered the city through.
If Amaimon had been smart enough, she would have brought a horse. Unfortunately, there was no horse, and Amaimon was forced to rely on her unnatural dhampir-given speed. She ducked out of the city, breezing past a small group of people, and ran into the surrounding forest, clutching the Storyweaver to her chest. She slowed down to a jog when she felt safe, but just as she let her guard down, Amaimon was struck in the shoulder by an arrow, causing her to drop the relic. She hissed in pain as the metal arrowhead burned her skin, causing a slight rash to appear where the arrow had pierced her. She pulled the arrow out, and threw her cloak to the ground, only to be struck by another arrow that cause her skin to burn.
"Fuck-! You guys are getting smarter, using holy weaponry...!" She hissed, wincing as a third arrow struck her in the stomach.
Amaimon wasn't worried about the placement of her new injuries- if she could drink a bit of blood, the wounds would heal themselves.
But why bother? You would rather just die, wouldn't you? Your the only crusader against this madness. What's the point?
Amaimon's thought made her pause, and another arrow was fired into her thigh. She remained standing still, reaching for her claymore slowly, her eyes steadily gazing at the group of five King's Guards as they surrounded her, all on horseback. One of the guards carried a spear, two of them were archers, and the remaining two wielded swords and shields.
Just another year. Just wait another year, something new might happen.
Amaimon let an arrow strike her through the wrist, knocking her hand away from the hilt of her claymore. She was surprised when her wrist was jerked backwards by the arrow, looking to see that the weapon was attached to a long chain. it was a makeshift weapon- something she could see the guards thought would stop her.
"Halt, Dhampir! The King has tolerated more than enough of your unholy presence! You stand charged with murder, assault, thievery, and treason!" The largest of the guards spoke in a deep voice, glaring down at her as if she were the scum of the earth; And she didn't think he was wrong about that.
Amaimon gave a cocky smirk, grabbing the chained arrow with her other hand, and snapping it in half. She pulled the arrow from her wrist, blood dripping from her wounds. She pulled the other arrows from her body, "Well, I guess I plead guilty, I've definitely murdered a few people. It's been 250 years, who wouldn't have at least tried to get away with it at least once!" Amaimon suddenly gripped the two arrows that she had pulled from her body, throwing them with such strength and precision that they both struck the two archer guards in the throat, lodging between the space of their helmets and chest plates. The remaining three guards were taken aback by the sudden attack, and Amaimon used the split-second shocker to grab the Storyweaver and bolt once more, the guards giving chase.
She ran with a limp, suddenly slightly more determined to escape with her relic without killing too many more people.
Her escape was quickly thwarted when a spear sailed past her, slicing through her side as she narrowly dodged it, before lodging itself into the ground. preventing the spear from piercing her gut. She fell to the ground, gripping her side, the wound from the spear much worse than a small arrow wound. She grunted in pain, hissing as one of the guards ripped her claymore from its sheath while she was immobilized, holding it over her with a grin.
"Out of all the magical creatures there are, I think your kind is the lowest of the low. You are merely a bottomfeeder." He spoke condescendingly to Amaimon, throwing the claymore aside, and unsheathing his own weapon.
I suppose another year was too much to ask for?