[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/f67wb4k.png[/img][/center]
[center][h1][color=870C0B]H[/color]ildr [color=870C0B]t[/color]he [color=870C0B]R[/color]ed[/h1][/center]
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Hildr's thoughts during her battle with Camille: [@Pirouette]
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[center][h3]A child?[/h3][/center]

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As the tensions rose and the woman stood ready for combat with one of the knights, something she did not see coming came from the crowd, a child? No, not even the Perrench would send a child to fight her, would they? She even introduced herself, no going back on this.

[color=870C0B]“I am Hildr of Crissia.”[/color] The Drudgunze knight said with not much in terms of enthusiasm. The girl that faced her was small, frail. Hildr shook her head, this was not the time to be underestimating her opponent. [color=870C0B]“May the true gods and those of your own favor you and may honor keep this battle sacred.”[/color] She slid on her helmet before clashing her swords together as a sign for the Eskandr to move away, luckily most listened to her wish except for that idiotic brute. 

After this show and play the knight began to quickly circle around the other. A mercy killing would be desirable, this is not a way for a child to live their life. Was she looking for a quick opening or was it all but a feint? People were moving way too much for her senses, even the energy was flowing weirdly. Pulling from it as much as she could she put everything into one, quick, finishing strike.

…It was blocked?

Have her senses started to fail her? This child.. That aura around her caused her skin to crawl. Protection from the gods? Or was this someone else protecting her? This was no time to think about it. The way she thought with such confidence and abandon of her own safety reminded the knight of herself, or rather what she used to be. 

Then, a slip and a clean strike: a hard smack across the chest that caused a large dent. Hildr gasped and staggered back. It was painful, the bruise, and now uncomfortable to breathe. "Fine, then! I will show you something too!" her blood was boiling from the fact a mere child got the first hit on her. 

Attack after attack was batted away like it was nothing, most men would be crushed under the blunt force of her swings but to think a child was not just taking them but doing so effortlessly. How could she even make this seem like anything but an utter embarrassment? Her senses were going numb as her anger kept on building up, getting sloppier with her attack by the minute.

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[center][h3]Fading[/h3][/center]

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Then, the feeling of cold steel making contact with her skin snapped her out of it. The sudden pain caused her to fall to her knees. Was that it? Did she lose? Was she that busy in her own mind that she allowed herself to die at the hands of a mere child? Opening her eyes once more she saw the girl-knight standing over her own defeated frame, spouting some religious nonsense that was nothing but dirtying her name with their gods’ bastardry. 

With everything she had left, she rolled to the side and recovered her own blade, thrusting up with it. She caught the girl clean, in her moment of overconfidence, and Camille staggered backwards, bleeding. She collapsed for perhaps a moment and Hildr felt it: felt that she had a chance, but the strength was not in her to will herself to her feet. It was in Camille. The Parrenchwoman rose, gritting her teeth, to once again try to finish matters, and it was truly over. Closing her eyes to accept her and said with a weak voice.. [color=870C0B]“May the Visitor take me to rest.”[/color]

She was so faded that she could not feel the surge of energy until the Nashorn came out of nowhere, smacking into Camille like a runaway wagon into a fly. Hildr could only lay there as the Nashorn sullied her name, her honor, her life. Tears began to flow, perhaps the Gods only gave her the miracle only to have her become nothing more than a shamed knight. Was the miracle a sick joke?

As her thoughts were starting to fade like candle lights and her eyes got heavier and heavier, one last thought could not be burned out. One that was cursing the Nashorn’s name, so that he would never be allowed a peaceful rest. Perhaps the Gods always favored her comrades, perhaps the Perrench were the Gods’ chosen people. 

[center][color=870C0B]‘If the Gods' grant me one final favour and I open my eyes again, I will make that bastard pain what's due.’[/color][/center]