05-29-2018, 01:39 AM
[align=center][div style=" background-color: transparent; border: 0px solid black; width: 530px; min-height: 9px; font-family:; line-height: 110%; text-align: justify; padding: 20px"]Forever a knight, skilled in combat and defense, taught to always be on guard, Thomas easily heard her as she crept up to his window. He heard the soft sounds of her lithe hand as it groped for the sword, weighing it in her hand. His dark eyes had opened, and he lie motionless in the dark. He silently dared her to take his sword. He wished and begged someone would give him a reason to fight. He stayed quiet, choosing to barely breathe as he did so. If he tried hard enough, he might have faded into the dark shadows of his room.
But then she called to him.
He recognized it as the voice of Amren. He sat up, immediately, swinging his long legs over the side of his cot. Hands gripped the side of his bed, knuckles turning white as he fought the urge to rush forward and secure his precious weapon. The object between them was the only remnant of his former life. The crown of their kingdom went to Faye, and Thomas was left a sword. How fitting. Regardless, he loved the weapon more than anything at current. It was like a lifeline to his home. If it were gone, he would be lost.
"I have a name, Amren. I quite like it. Perhaps you could use it sometime," he began, pushing himself off of his cot and strolling forward. He placed a hand on the hilt of his sword. He did it not to threat Amren (no, he saw no need yet), but to assure himself that it was still there, that Amren would not be able to pull it away. "And pity for you. It is not for sale." There was something dangerous in his tone that suggested his words were final. This heirloom would never be sold. If she wanted it, she would have to pry it from his cold, dead hands.
"Pardon my asking, girl, but what compels you to posses it?" He arched a dark eyebrow as he spoke, eyes shifting from the blade to the ancient creature. [color=#987A65][b]"You may enter, if it pleases you, Amren."
But then she called to him.
He recognized it as the voice of Amren. He sat up, immediately, swinging his long legs over the side of his cot. Hands gripped the side of his bed, knuckles turning white as he fought the urge to rush forward and secure his precious weapon. The object between them was the only remnant of his former life. The crown of their kingdom went to Faye, and Thomas was left a sword. How fitting. Regardless, he loved the weapon more than anything at current. It was like a lifeline to his home. If it were gone, he would be lost.
"I have a name, Amren. I quite like it. Perhaps you could use it sometime," he began, pushing himself off of his cot and strolling forward. He placed a hand on the hilt of his sword. He did it not to threat Amren (no, he saw no need yet), but to assure himself that it was still there, that Amren would not be able to pull it away. "And pity for you. It is not for sale." There was something dangerous in his tone that suggested his words were final. This heirloom would never be sold. If she wanted it, she would have to pry it from his cold, dead hands.
"Pardon my asking, girl, but what compels you to posses it?" He arched a dark eyebrow as he spoke, eyes shifting from the blade to the ancient creature. [color=#987A65][b]"You may enter, if it pleases you, Amren."
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my one true love is under the ground
and i'll never be anybody's hero now
and i'll never be anybody's hero now
thomas dubois | lionhearted | blackfall