Malachi

Malachi found himself sneaking around buildings, his never leaving his target. He had ignored orders to return to Var'aak, instead had stayed. He had managed to keep his distance, she walked down the winding streets accompanied by an older woman. Malachi's curiosity was getting the better of him, and he followed her.

From where he was standing in the shadows he noticed a familiar face. The soldier wore a cloak to hide his weapons and armour, but Malachi could tell who it was. His blood went cold at the sight, his message had reached the king and he had sent his soldiers.

Malachi was now torn, lost in thought. Malachi's attention snapped back, he looked up and down the street. His target was nowhere in sight.

The soldier shed his cloak and began attacking the villagers joined in by several more soldiers. The street soon became a battle ground.

People fled, the few that did not, were killed.

Malachi watched as the villagers tried to fight back, but were outmatched. The soldiers were merciless. He was about to draw his sword, when someone grabbed his arm. A young woman with red curls, he recognized her as his targets friend.

She pulled him out of the street and into a building. Malachi struggled to free himself, but her grip was strong.

"Do you know how to use that thing?" she pointed to his sword.

He nodded.

"Good. You'll need it if you want to get out alive." She released him and ran into the next room.

Malachi followed her, unsure of what to expect. They were in a small house, a fire was burning in the fireplace.

She was putting on a leather chest plate and a sword belt. The ill fitting armor hung loosely on her thin frame.

"Who are you?" He questioned.

"No time." She turned clumsily drawing her sword.

They heard the soldiers break down the door and enter the building.

Malachi drew his own sword and prepared to fight.

As the first soldier entered, Malachi slashed his throat, his body falling to the ground. The next two were taken by surprise, but quickly recovered and lunged toward them. Malachi parried their blows, and he took the opportunity to strike.Malachi turned turned to the girl, an arrow whizzed through the air past his ear finding its mark.

She fell to the ground, bleeding heavily.

The archer fired another shot, this time hitting Malachi's leg.

The pain was excruciating, he collapsed, clutching his thigh.

He heard the footsteps of the remaining soldiers approach, their laughter echoing through the room.

They grabbed him roughly, dragging him outside.

As they were being dragged away, the redhead grabbed his hand. "Don't let me die," she whispered.

Malachi woke up with a start, his heart pounding in his chest. Pain fired up his thigh, and he grimaced, reaching down to feel the wound. He must have been knocked out by one of the soldiers and left for dead.

He looked around, realizing he was covered in ash.

His mind was foggy, and his memory was hazy, but he remembered the redhead.

He staggered to his feet, his leg aching.

He limped his way through the burnt rubble, his eyes searching frantically.

He spotted her, her red curls matted with dirt and blood.

She was alive, but barely.

He knelt beside her, trying to assess the extent of her injuries.

Her eyes opened slightly, and she looked at him. "Don't let me die," she repeated.

Malachi looked down at his wound, and then back at her. He had no choice.

He took a deep breath, and began to cut off his pant leg, revealing his own wound. He winced as he ripped off the fabric, exposing the arrow still embedded in his flesh.

He placed his hands on the wound, and gritted his teeth.

With a quick motion, he yanked the arrow out, letting out a strangled cry.

He could feel his own blood flowing down his leg, mixing with hers.

He held his leg tightly, trying to staunch the flow.

After a few minutes, the bleeding stopped.

He removed his belt and used it to bandage his wound.

He looked back at her, and realized that he had no choice but to try and save her.

She gasped in pain, her eyes opening wider.

"It's okay," he whispered. "We'll make it out of here alive."

He scooped the redhead into his arms, crying out in pain as he stood up.

She was heavier than he had expected, and his injured leg threatened to buckle under the weight.

But he pushed on, determined to get her out of there.

Malachi questioned his decisions, he disobeyed a direct order from the kill. turned against his own army and now he was injured, his leg was throbbing, and he was carrying a stranger.

But as he limped through the ruins of Idrea, his mind was made up.

He couldn't go back to Var'rack.