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 Historical/Historical Fiction The Swindled Heart

Discussion in 'Roleplay Execution' started by serendipity, Aug 5, 2019.

  1. serendipity

    serendipity si vis amari, ama Moderator

    Messages:
    160
    Local Time:
    2:10 PM
    x
    The Swindled Heart

    [​IMG]
    Leander : The Knight of Ithaca

    [​IMG]
    Arabella : The Princess of Kymeth
    roleplay between: @serendipity and @Queenie
     
  2. serendipity

    serendipity si vis amari, ama Moderator

    Messages:
    160
    Local Time:
    2:10 PM
    Thundering reverberation of marching hooves on the battlefield stormed atop Earth's soil as the rumbling underneath the dirt and soots vibrated within the crack of the terrain. The bellow of the horns and the echoed, piercing loud cries of war broadcasted throughout the field. Heartbeats drummed against the cladded armour as men raged in red, fighting for their gains and belief. Soldiers tightened their grips at their swords, bowstring pulled back against the archers’ nose, and poles remained forward as enemies from both sides rode full speed ahead on their steed without hesitation. Time stood still for a moment as the snarls of anger vibrated through the crowd while hardened, steely gazes filled with ember strived. It was all or nothing, turning back wasn’t an alternative. Head-on, the warring kingdoms were at its last stand: a fight to the end where only one would come out victorious, at least, they desired such an outcome.

    Metal clanked against metal, the ringing of the drums, and the screams of pandemonium ignited. With each stroke of a mark, bodies fell in tandem, thumping against the unforgiving land. The smell and taste of iron were erroneous as it seeped and coated those on the playing field. The essence of time neared and with one fell swoop, the clashing continued onwards. Each strike and swing were filled with a force as sharp and brute as the next. Men stripped themselves of humanity and what remained were hungry animals, fighting a battle that would never cease until one side disappears completely.

    Solace was absent, unfound and only hushed whispers progressed, tarnishing any prospect of reconciling. None can recall how the bloodshed started, only when. Unspoken truth and forgotten morality, hatred flared like wildfire. Alliances dismantled and mistrust replaced brotherly connections. This was the final battle, an ending to all that heartache, that is, if any survives.




    A month elapsed and a resolution was in sight. Many lives have been shed, though, not for one who is still amidst a brutish battle against another from Kingdom Kymeth. The two were relentless as their swords swiftly swung against each other, drizzled in stale blood, never ceasing to let up. The knight's injuries were many: cuts, bruises, slashes, and though they were flesh wounds, one laceration, in particular, would cause his downfall: a deep gash in his left rib cage that would only spread wider with each movement he made. However, he did not give up. The weary face of the blood-stained man continued to carry on, not wanting to die like an animal waiting to be slaughtered. He fought with vigour despite the tiredness that seeped in.

    Retreating cries called in the distance for both kingdoms. Although the knight wanted nothing more than to return to his campsite victorious, the brutality of war never ceased. No victor had been determined and with no more men left to spare, the message between both kingdoms was stated: withdraw.

    With all the strength he had left, Leander managed to grab ahold of a fallen comrade's sword and waited for the right moment before jabbing the sword into the side of his foe, counting the moments for the body to drop. Once his enemy fell, Leander doubled checked to make sure he wouldn’t get up again. There wasn’t any room for mistakes or for his guard to lessen. Leander’s breathing heavied as he scrambled instinctively for cloth, eyes frantically crossing the corpses and other fallen items around him. He hoped to put pressure on his wound with some sort of cloth since his attire was dishevelled: torn at the sleeves, cut up fabric, and dirt and soot painted across his face. Leander, unfortunately, wasn’t free from blemishes and remained scathed.

    Sweat dripped down the side of his face as he swallowed, dryness spreading to the corners of his mouth and throat. The heat of the sun's rays beamed down upon the field. Swords scattered across the plain, flags and poles were thrown carelessly where bodies laid, arrows shot against the flesh, and the scent of decay dispersed. Leander was a committed and loyal knight to his people of Ithaca, however, his resolve was slowly slipping. Although his mind was tough, he found his body swaying to the side as his knees nearly gave way, betraying him as only his adrenaline rush was left. His body didn’t want to listen to him. Nevertheless, he needed to pull through, finding himself nestled deep within enemy grounds with no clear direction or distinction of where to go. His senses only told him to never stop walking.

    Leander was alone from where he was stationed, finding himself particularly lost as he managed to find himself battling away from his brethren and the middle-field of the battle. How he led himself away from the troops was a blur and he could only blame it on the nature of surviving and keeping up with enemy lines. He didn’t leave any alive in his range as it was killed or be killed on the frontlines.

    With half a mind to consciously conceal himself by using enemy garments, despite the distaste and disgust he embodied, Leander reluctantly took precautions beforehand, in case he was to meet others on his travel back to his campsite, Ithaca’s territory. But, with exhaustion comes a lack of perception and the foliage soon blurred into one, almost as if Leander was seeing circles over and over again. It was a harsh maze. Although Leander didn’t have a formal family to return to, he knew there were still people missing him back home, waiting for his safe return. He shouldn’t have made a promise, but the little one had him wrapped around her fingers. She could make him do absolutely anything, within limits, and he would. As he trekked, Leander thought of nothing but the fresh smell of baked bread and the taste of liquor down his parched throat. His stomach rumbled as he panted, feeling the open-wound tearing at his flesh the more he rushed his steps. Leander knew he had to survive and hated disappointment.

    Approaching the back-end of a campsite, a tent was in view away from all the others. However, Leander noticed something peculiar about this lonesome tent especially seeing a small garden surrounding it. His confusion seeped in as he didn’t recognise the terrain and the area around him. Before he could flee, realising too late that he did not return to the correct station, the rustling of the frond with each footstep he made notified someone of his presence.

    In view, a stumbling man is seen as his vision blurred incredibly. Adorned on his silhouette is a regal symbol of the kingdom Kymeth and before he could move, he found himself slipping, falling to his knee as the blood-soaked cloth laid at his side. Blood slowly pooled around him as he hissed. His head faced the ground as Leander gritted his teeth, the pain resurfacing. Leander's once sun-kissed hair was tainted in dirt and blood, covering his face as he hoarsely whispered,

    "A. . apologies for the intrusion. Please, do not mind to me. . just need a breather."
     
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