[center][img]https://media.discordapp.net/attachments/342829614500151300/455989420173295626/Jack.jpg?width=501&height=282[/img]

[h1]Jack
Western Farm[/h1]

[@Argonaut][@Reflection][@Scallop][/center]

There was only one direction a thief should expect an attack from. A fleeing thief shows only one side of himself to his foe, his back. A strike from behind is a cowardly act, but in the case of chasing a thief, it is the only direction a pursuer can strike from. Thus, to expect and be able to fend off attacks from the rear is something of a specialty for those who are skilled in running away- a running retreat is only successful if you can live and retreat.

A blow was coming.

A blow was coming, and Jack [i]knew[/i] he could not avoid it.

He turned to defend, the miracle still activating. A defensive guard, properly put up and defending himself from immediate death. 

Not Enough.

The blade wielded by the Paladin slammed into Jack’s guard, demolishing it with ease. A Giant. No. Stronger than a Giant. A strike that exceeded the idea of “what was possible for a human”. A strike that stood near the pinnacle of “strength”.

The guard crumpled, but it’s existence saved Jack nonetheless. What would have been a cut to split him twain was held back, barely by his own strength and the guard of Durandal itself and a miracle, to become a scathing blow which cut his hands clean off, the blade clattering to the ground with them.

It hurt. It hurt. It hurt, hurt, hurt, hurt.

Jack bit his lip and ran off again.

A complete and utter failure. The loss of his hands, that is. The blade was no longer the danger, not with that cursed fire gone. He could not have saved the people from the horn, but he saved them from the blade. He had contented himself with that victory.

Now it was nothing but ash in his mouth. 

“Cursed paladin! Not a hint of honor or remorse, not a pause of grief! Nothing but greed for your blade! Take it and begone, man with no more honor than a thief!”

The wounds throbbed.

He could feel the pulse of his Master’s command seal as it washed over him. Too little, too sparse. He ran on.

Ran from it all.