Post by Joscelin de Valore on May 23, 2012 19:02:13 GMT -5
You fool . . .
Joscelin had survived his birth, the baptism of fire that was war, the ravages of alcoholism, and so much more, and despite all of that . . . the one thing that may finally and truly kill him would be a damn boar. Some gigantic, stinking and frothing beast that had stormed out the brush and taken him unawares. It had been a rolling mountain of thick flesh, muscle, and tusks, snorting and squealing its warcry when it blindsided Joscelin, who had been astride Ahearn, his surefooted mount. The horse reared instantly, bucking Joscelin off and sending him to the Earth, and his vision dimmed.
The world around him seemed to disappear, and everything that was far seemed close while everything close seemed far. He struggled to regain his legs and balance as pain blossomed at the back of his head and blood streamed down the back of his neck. It was cold to the touch when he reached back, examining the wound by touch as he simultaneously came to his feet. He hadn't had time to think though . . . no, for the boar was upon him once again, stamping and charging, but Joscelin's weapons were too far. They were within the saddle of his mount, already having fled the scene when nearly hamstringed by the beast.
His belt knife!
He remembered and his hands were swift, although his vision swayed and his head was still rattled. He staggered back a few steps, still seeking purchase and proper balance. He withdrew his belt knife, but unfortunately the damned thing was inadequate for killing anything beyond small game. It was more meant for skinning than anything else but . . . there, it was upon him, and Joscelin swiftly side stepped. All the grace that he once had as the most skilled swordsman in the land was gone in that moment as he stabbed and slashed the beast in passing, the leather of his boot catching the worst of the passing attack of tusks.
It came around for another charge.
Joscelin attempted another sidestep, but he lost his footing. The tusks found purchase across his stomach, tearing through the fine white cambric of his shirt and slashing his abdomen as he raked his blade down the back of the boar. At the end of the pass, Joscelin caught himself upon the ground with one hand. He looked at the boar as it stamped and turned back toward him, unaffected by his knife.
It charged.
Again and again, the beast came at him and Joscelin fought tooth and nail. In the end, Joscelin was victorious, planting his knife hilt deep into its eye in one pass, and furthering it with a stone in the next. Winded, worn, bruised, cut, and bleeding to the point that his back, and stomach, was wet and making him shiver with the cool touch of it, Joscelin sought the strength to leave that place behind. He sought the strength to survive. It was far more easier said than done, however, for when Joscelin came to his feet he lost his balance, falling.
He lost track of time. It all came to him in moments. At one point he was awake upon the Earth and coming to his feet, and the next he had been walking through a wooded area that seemed endless. In the next moment he was ahorse, not recalling when he had found Ahearn and mounted whatsoever, and then hours later he had awakened, having fallen asleep across the neck of the beast and feeling ill and weak. Then the world fell away once more . . .
Aimlessly they wandered.
Joscelin had survived his birth, the baptism of fire that was war, the ravages of alcoholism, and so much more, and despite all of that . . . the one thing that may finally and truly kill him would be a damn boar. Some gigantic, stinking and frothing beast that had stormed out the brush and taken him unawares. It had been a rolling mountain of thick flesh, muscle, and tusks, snorting and squealing its warcry when it blindsided Joscelin, who had been astride Ahearn, his surefooted mount. The horse reared instantly, bucking Joscelin off and sending him to the Earth, and his vision dimmed.
The world around him seemed to disappear, and everything that was far seemed close while everything close seemed far. He struggled to regain his legs and balance as pain blossomed at the back of his head and blood streamed down the back of his neck. It was cold to the touch when he reached back, examining the wound by touch as he simultaneously came to his feet. He hadn't had time to think though . . . no, for the boar was upon him once again, stamping and charging, but Joscelin's weapons were too far. They were within the saddle of his mount, already having fled the scene when nearly hamstringed by the beast.
His belt knife!
He remembered and his hands were swift, although his vision swayed and his head was still rattled. He staggered back a few steps, still seeking purchase and proper balance. He withdrew his belt knife, but unfortunately the damned thing was inadequate for killing anything beyond small game. It was more meant for skinning than anything else but . . . there, it was upon him, and Joscelin swiftly side stepped. All the grace that he once had as the most skilled swordsman in the land was gone in that moment as he stabbed and slashed the beast in passing, the leather of his boot catching the worst of the passing attack of tusks.
It came around for another charge.
Joscelin attempted another sidestep, but he lost his footing. The tusks found purchase across his stomach, tearing through the fine white cambric of his shirt and slashing his abdomen as he raked his blade down the back of the boar. At the end of the pass, Joscelin caught himself upon the ground with one hand. He looked at the boar as it stamped and turned back toward him, unaffected by his knife.
It charged.
Again and again, the beast came at him and Joscelin fought tooth and nail. In the end, Joscelin was victorious, planting his knife hilt deep into its eye in one pass, and furthering it with a stone in the next. Winded, worn, bruised, cut, and bleeding to the point that his back, and stomach, was wet and making him shiver with the cool touch of it, Joscelin sought the strength to leave that place behind. He sought the strength to survive. It was far more easier said than done, however, for when Joscelin came to his feet he lost his balance, falling.
He lost track of time. It all came to him in moments. At one point he was awake upon the Earth and coming to his feet, and the next he had been walking through a wooded area that seemed endless. In the next moment he was ahorse, not recalling when he had found Ahearn and mounted whatsoever, and then hours later he had awakened, having fallen asleep across the neck of the beast and feeling ill and weak. Then the world fell away once more . . .
Aimlessly they wandered.