Eldantios.
Drakehide had been waiting for this a long, long time. From the moment Drakehide had met Eldantios in Elwynn Forest, when he had attacked Keedriel, Drakehide had disliked this creature. With every stab, jab, and flesh wound that Drakehide had endured, that loathing had grown. It had hit its peak just days ago, when Drakehide had observed Eldantios, Modas' latest little pet, observing the massive ground battle between the Modas il Toralar and the Pillar of Honor. And participating in it.
Which was more than Drakehide had done...
The warrior had not been looking for this. He'd not been in the mood for this. He wasn't entirely sober, and he wasn't in anything remotely resembling a good state. The blood elf had endured one major, crushing defeat this evening, and it had been a major struggle for him after that just to stay in Akira's bar and drink, without shooting Vectus. Already, tonight, he'd been stabbed in the side by Mialera, who stood there gloating...but who had given Drakehide, at last, the opportunity to finish something he'd wanted finished for a long, long time.
A one-on-one fight. Warrior to warrior, obsidium bolt gun versus longbow. Hammer versus sword. Drakehide versus Eldantios.
This...this was more than just a tempting opportunity, to take a shot at Eldantios, and at Modas.
This was war.
Everything that happened next was a blur.
Acid-ray rifle deploys. Trigger finger pulls. Pressurized acid spits out, coating the sidewalk ahead of him, burning through. Eldantios dodges.
Arrow to the chest. Second arrow to the chest. Pain. Lung filling. Breathing less than glorious.
Semi-automatic obsidium rounds flying, towards Eldantios, as Drakehide howls. Recoil. Pain. Pain in his chest, in his heart.
Two more arrows. Torso wound, leg wound. Grievous. Breathing seriously impaired. Blood dripping out of multiple wounds, down Drakehide's front, and down Drakehide's thigh.
Rifles down, ammunition depleted. Saronite grenade thrown. Ineffective. Drakehide reaches for melee weapon. Activates spinal injectors. Anesthetics pump through his blood, giving him strength to continue on just a little longer...
Eldantios drops his bow. Retreats, defends against hammer strikes. Dual-wielded, one-handed swords. Slashing wound, slashing wound. Drakehide bleeds from two more wounds. The taste of blood is thick in the warrior's mouth. He cannot stop. He will not stop.
Akira steps in. Drakehide snarls, and regrets it immediately. Akira is only trying to assist...to do what he thinks is best...but Drakehide has to finish this. Drakehide has to end this.
Slashing wound, slashing wound. Sensation beginning to return to his fingertips, and feet. Not much time left...anesthetics wearing off...
Finally, contact. Drakehide lands a hammer blow, to Eldantios' shoulder. He cackles, something dark and wicked stirred in the warrior, something vicious in him at last satisfied. Revenge. Cry havoc - !
Slashing wound. Drakehide drops to his knees.
Slashing wound. Drakehide drops to the ground.
Everything begins to fade, into darkness. The warrior lies in a pool of his own blood.
Failure. Again.
"I...will make you pay...for what...you've done," Drakehide rasps, his voice a hoarse gurgle over the taste of his own blood, and a sick gurgling sound in his throat.
As the battle ended, and the world began to spin, Drakehide realized the point had never been to win. The point had never been to kill Eldantios. This was not a defeat...this was not a loss...no, this was...right. This was exactly how things needed to be.
He could see it all again, as he began to lose consciousness. He was back on the field of battle. He could smell gunfire, and sulphur. He could hear the wail of arcane and fel magics flying through the air, bombarding ground targets. He could hear the cries of the wounded and dying, the crumbling of nearby structures. He could see allies, not far away, doing battle.
And he was here, doing battle as one of them. Face-to-face with Eldantios, with the enemy. He grinned, and let out a soft chuckle, as he began to pass.
The guilt...the self-loathing...the hatred...the longing to destroy himself, for having stayed on the sidelines...it drifted away. It was gone. All gone. Every moment of it was gone from him. Now...he was free.
He felt...right. He felt...vindicated.
He felt...
"...glorious..."
The point should never have been to win. It was to fight. It was to stand, and fight. And...to die on his feet.
Now...as he passed into unconsciousness, and slumber...he was free.
He thought back to the one defeat tonight that, even now, still plagued him. One battle, where...if he could still go back...he might have changed the outcome.
Should have told her the truth, he realized.
Too late. It didn't make any difference now.
Darkness...and silence...
Drakehide had been waiting for this a long, long time. From the moment Drakehide had met Eldantios in Elwynn Forest, when he had attacked Keedriel, Drakehide had disliked this creature. With every stab, jab, and flesh wound that Drakehide had endured, that loathing had grown. It had hit its peak just days ago, when Drakehide had observed Eldantios, Modas' latest little pet, observing the massive ground battle between the Modas il Toralar and the Pillar of Honor. And participating in it.
Which was more than Drakehide had done...
The warrior had not been looking for this. He'd not been in the mood for this. He wasn't entirely sober, and he wasn't in anything remotely resembling a good state. The blood elf had endured one major, crushing defeat this evening, and it had been a major struggle for him after that just to stay in Akira's bar and drink, without shooting Vectus. Already, tonight, he'd been stabbed in the side by Mialera, who stood there gloating...but who had given Drakehide, at last, the opportunity to finish something he'd wanted finished for a long, long time.
A one-on-one fight. Warrior to warrior, obsidium bolt gun versus longbow. Hammer versus sword. Drakehide versus Eldantios.
This...this was more than just a tempting opportunity, to take a shot at Eldantios, and at Modas.
This was war.
Everything that happened next was a blur.
Acid-ray rifle deploys. Trigger finger pulls. Pressurized acid spits out, coating the sidewalk ahead of him, burning through. Eldantios dodges.
Arrow to the chest. Second arrow to the chest. Pain. Lung filling. Breathing less than glorious.
Semi-automatic obsidium rounds flying, towards Eldantios, as Drakehide howls. Recoil. Pain. Pain in his chest, in his heart.
Two more arrows. Torso wound, leg wound. Grievous. Breathing seriously impaired. Blood dripping out of multiple wounds, down Drakehide's front, and down Drakehide's thigh.
Rifles down, ammunition depleted. Saronite grenade thrown. Ineffective. Drakehide reaches for melee weapon. Activates spinal injectors. Anesthetics pump through his blood, giving him strength to continue on just a little longer...
Eldantios drops his bow. Retreats, defends against hammer strikes. Dual-wielded, one-handed swords. Slashing wound, slashing wound. Drakehide bleeds from two more wounds. The taste of blood is thick in the warrior's mouth. He cannot stop. He will not stop.
Akira steps in. Drakehide snarls, and regrets it immediately. Akira is only trying to assist...to do what he thinks is best...but Drakehide has to finish this. Drakehide has to end this.
Slashing wound, slashing wound. Sensation beginning to return to his fingertips, and feet. Not much time left...anesthetics wearing off...
Finally, contact. Drakehide lands a hammer blow, to Eldantios' shoulder. He cackles, something dark and wicked stirred in the warrior, something vicious in him at last satisfied. Revenge. Cry havoc - !
Slashing wound. Drakehide drops to his knees.
Slashing wound. Drakehide drops to the ground.
Everything begins to fade, into darkness. The warrior lies in a pool of his own blood.
Failure. Again.
"I...will make you pay...for what...you've done," Drakehide rasps, his voice a hoarse gurgle over the taste of his own blood, and a sick gurgling sound in his throat.
As the battle ended, and the world began to spin, Drakehide realized the point had never been to win. The point had never been to kill Eldantios. This was not a defeat...this was not a loss...no, this was...right. This was exactly how things needed to be.
He could see it all again, as he began to lose consciousness. He was back on the field of battle. He could smell gunfire, and sulphur. He could hear the wail of arcane and fel magics flying through the air, bombarding ground targets. He could hear the cries of the wounded and dying, the crumbling of nearby structures. He could see allies, not far away, doing battle.
And he was here, doing battle as one of them. Face-to-face with Eldantios, with the enemy. He grinned, and let out a soft chuckle, as he began to pass.
The guilt...the self-loathing...the hatred...the longing to destroy himself, for having stayed on the sidelines...it drifted away. It was gone. All gone. Every moment of it was gone from him. Now...he was free.
He felt...right. He felt...vindicated.
He felt...
"...glorious..."
The point should never have been to win. It was to fight. It was to stand, and fight. And...to die on his feet.
Now...as he passed into unconsciousness, and slumber...he was free.
He thought back to the one defeat tonight that, even now, still plagued him. One battle, where...if he could still go back...he might have changed the outcome.
Should have told her the truth, he realized.
Too late. It didn't make any difference now.
Darkness...and silence...
Edited by Drakehide on 4/11/2012 4:49 AM PDT
