[center][img]http://peterbaxterafrica.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/12/Page-Divider.png[/img] The First Age [img]http://peterbaxterafrica.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/12/Page-Divider.png[/img][/center] The world was falling apart. Every limb burned in pain, and he pushed forward, up the stone steps of the tower. [i]I have to stop this[/i] echoed throughout his mind. His body looked as it had been torn to shreds—his clothes, his bare flesh; all looked like bloody tatters. His sword hung limply at his side, as he continued upwards. Behind him were only the corpses of those in his way; the corpses of the dead. There was no one else with him; he’d left his companions behind. Not for their sake: for his. Higher, higher and higher as his head began to swell with pain and vertigo. Every wound, every sacrifice, every ounce of blood spilled had been leading up to this. At the top was the Chained God. At the top was the reason his humanity had been stolen from him. At the top was the enemy. One more enemy to defeat. One more challenge to face. One more…one more… [center][img]http://peterbaxterafrica.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/12/Page-Divider.png[/img] [b][u]POV:[/u]MARLOWE [sub]Dhadan Forest, County of Dunric[/sub][/b] [img]http://peterbaxterafrica.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/12/Page-Divider.png[/img][/center] “ONE MORE!” Marlowe bellowed, bringing the saber up to catch the blade coming down in a violent arc towards his face. He caught the longsword near the center of his own blade, pushing back against his opponent’s grip. The two had been locked in combat for some time now. Marlowe’s jacket was cast aside, and he was wearing his thin white shirt. Without his slacks, he could have appeared to be battling in his bedclothes. The woman across from him was more modestly dressed. His eyes locked with hers: as a strand of teal hair fell in front of her face; they’d been sparring for close to an hour now and she was starting to look a tad disheveled. “Come on, hit me with your best-“ It was over in an instant; the woman wrested Marlowe’s swordhand from his grip, kicked his legs out from under him and fell on top of him, her blade pressed to his throat. “You’re too open,” she remarked, taking the steel away from his neck. “You said you wanted me to teach you how to control the fight, but you’re still relying on your strength and not your thick head.” She lightly thumped his forehead, and gave an exasperated sigh. “Are you sure you’re even capable of thinking while fighting?” “I thought that’s what the training was for,” Marlowe groaned, sitting up and rubbing his neck with a free hand. “I thought you liking me would mean you’d be less rough.” “You can’t each someone to be smart. And it’s because I care about you that I’m so hard on you. I don’t want you to get hurt fighting.” “Viera. It’s okay if I get hurt fighting.” The woman sighed, before retying her hair into a ponytail. “You always say that. So what happens when you’re finally hit with something you can’t heal?” The man grew quiet for a moment, closing his eyes. His heart had jumped when she said that last part. Not being able to heal; being able to die. That one thing that kept him away from the rest of the world; that kept him from being normal. Part of him would embrace mortality in an instant. But now he had Viera to protect, and his friends needed him, and Dun was still… Marlowe took a deep breath, stood up and approached Viera, placing a hand on her shoulder as she turned to him. He gently brought his lips to her forehead, and spoke with a low voice, “Okay. I promise, I’ll be safer from now on. No more running in blindly.” “I don’t expect you’ll keep that promise.” Her small fingers traced around the thin beard the man had slowly been growing from their months along the road. He seemed so different from the wide-eyed man she met a year ago in Derim. His battles back home had aged him. “I will. I’ll try to, anyway. I’m not gonna just run out and leave you.” Those words came out carelessly, and he felt her grab at his side, her hand tightening around his tunic as he talked. She’d lost nearly all of her family due to her older brother. Hell, part of the reason she traveled with him was to find another missing sibling and bring them back home. He opened his mouth to apologize, to say something to make the words better before— A scream broke their quiet moment together. Marlowe looked towards the direction of the scream. “When there’s smoke….” He grumbled. He walked over to his gear, hefting up a thick burgundy jacket and sliding it over his lithe frame. A leather bandolier came next. And finally, a huge hunk of metal that was laying against the tree was placed in thick straps along the bandolier. He looked off, almost off balance carrying such a cumbersome weapon, compared to Viera’s single sword. “There’s fire.” Viera sheathed her longsword, and started walking off towards the sound.