-This is my RP bit, for my man crush
Now stop bitching at me about it! With a gasp Claire regains consciousness the stale crypt air full’s her lungs before the foul metallic taste of blood enters her mouth. In an attempt to sit up against the dungeon wall, an excruciating pain flashes across her face, throbbing at the beat of her own heart. blood pouring from her mouth and slide down her throat, She coughs, ejecting blood and broken teeth on to the floor, in great pain she cries out hovering her hands over the side that has been struck, in an attempt to cradle the pain. The thought of losing her sight causing her wail uncontrollable, dying from her injury hasn’t yet crossed her mind, Perhaps if it did, she would welcome it without question, anything to stop the agony. In an attempt to find relief she’s closes her eyes in hopes this is all a dream.
Memory of her last moments of wakefulness floods into head, A crushing blow to the face caused her to loss consciousness and tumble down into the crypt below. She has have collected herself enough to sit up, though the bleeding has slowed to a trickle, the pain still persist. Memory of what has happened before the incident still has yet to return to still unable to move her entire body, she imagines herself crawling toward the surface to find aid but the thought of being seen as an intruder and struck down on sight terrifies her.
Two monks enter the crypt and to their surprise they find the body of a women covered in blood. They hurry to her aid, nearly losing their footing on blood socked steps where she once lay
“Are you alive my dear?” the old monk asks in a gruff voice clutching her ice cold hands.
Only a whimper escapes her lips. The old monk brushes her hair to one side to better examine her injury, revealing her shattered cheek bone and a deep jagged gash under her eye, and another laceration splitting her lip to the middle of her cheek. “Is she alive?” asked the younger monk.
The old monk respond in a soft voice, “She is, but only barely, it is miracle we found her, the crypt wasn’t breached during siege, it could have been ages before someone could have found her.” The old monk beckoned to the other “we must tend to her wounds, Help me carry her first, then we shall inform the Archon” while carry her out of the Crypt the younger monk asks “What will be done, for her?”
“We will have the surgeons, address her wounds and the order will decide her fate” the old monk said slowly as they make their way up and out of the crypt. A gasp came from the child as the sunlight light covered her face, she contorted in a such away that she had to be let on to the ground, Laying there she began to mumbled. Doing so cause her wounds to bleeding again, the old monk places his index finger upon her lips, halting her mumbling. The old monk shocked by what she said, “Vlagnir… Praise me, is that was you said?”
He felt her nod slightly.
“Did she say her name?” asked the young monk?
“I don‘t believe so, Vlagnir (Vla-near or Vla-nire The g is silent) is figure in Highlander folklore, a solder whose Will alone allowed him to shrug off and continue fighting after withstanding a mortal blow. Perhaps she is trying to find strength within that tale” The old monk lectured
“When a Highlander survive such a threatening injury, it is not uncommon for them to take on the name Vlagnir. Now let us hurry, we have precious little time.”
