[center][h3][u][b][color=sienna]D R I F T E R[/color][/b][/u][/h3]
[i][b]Down the Well, Into the Storm[/b][/i][/center]
[hr]
Sure enough, as wind whistled past his ears, he realized he was falling too far and too fast. The drifter grimaced. He sucked in a deep breath, the cold air rushing up his nose, then thrust out with both feet. Being flexible was important for any kind of athlete. Warriors, too, but one didn't really need to be able to do the splits in order to absorb blows through plates of armor. The drifter, however, was not the usual type of warrior. He wasn't a gymnast, nor a contortionist, but he could certainly do the splits.

He still clenched his teeth and screwed one eye shut as the weight of his fall continued to drag him down the slippery walls of the well, his boots grinding against the stones on either side. With a pose that would have made Jean Claude Van Deku (a famous stage performer) proud, the drifter came to a stop with his groin just inches from the water.

"Oof!" He breathed out, and pushed now with his arms against the walls so that he could--[i]very slowly[/i]--bring his legs back underneath him, and then lower himself to the water. It wasn't that deep, but he still had to wade through it onto the stone pathway, and did so like a man who has just ridden a horse for the first time, and for several hours at a stretch. That is to say, bowlegged, hunched, and considerably sore.

But when he saw the blood, he stood straight as a post. One hand tightening its grip on his closed umbrella, he slowly approached the crumpled figure. The man wore the armor and colors of the Castle Guard. The torch was fresh--had this man placed it there before he fell? Had he been coming down here to get something...or to get [i]away[/i] from something?

[i]Queen Zelda has gone into labor, and is in danger. She fears her husband. Friends await me at the bottom of the well...[/i]

Could this be the friend? But Zelda has used the plural. Had this man come down here to wait for him, then been butchered? Had he been wounded beforehand, but still struggled to meet those called by his Queen? Too many questions. The Drifter needed only a few answers.

He knelt next to the wounded man. It was just as dangerous to move someone this badly injured as it was to try and treat them without the proper tools. As much as he hated to let life slip away, Drifter did the only thing he could. He grabbed the man's hand in his own and held it firmly.

"Hear me first, Friend." the swordsman said in a low voice, looking towards the locked door at the end of the passage for a moment before he turned back to the guard. "By Queen Zelda, for an unborn heir, I am here." Speaking too much, asking too much, would aggravate the man's wounds. Queen Zelda had called him here. She wanted him to do something for her coming child. The King was not to be trusted, therefore an enemy. Therefore those he commanded, those loyal to him, could also be enemies. So the only answer the Drifter needed...

"[b]To whom shall I entrust the child?[/b]" Who could he trust? Where did Zelda want him to take the baby, if anywhere--and if he wasn't supposed to take the child anywhere, who, at the least, could he trust as a fellow ally? Therefore, not just whom could he trust, but whom could he trust with the child, or to give him further information, if Zelda did not make it through her labors as she feared. This way, the Guard need say only one thing, and all their energy could be put into surviving this grave wound--though that, too, seemed too great a labor. But the drifter needed only one answer. A name.

He continued to hold the man's hand, and looked him in the eyes. At the least, the man would not die alone and forgotten.