Damien
Theea’s blade punched through, silencing the last rat with a wet, ugly screech. Damien stood beside her, axe low, breath hard but steady. Blood still dripped into his boot, the leg throbbing hot with every pulse. He shifted his weight and it burned sharp, but he kept his jaw locked, eyes on the nest. Deimos’s warning had been clear: more would come.
Rock shifted across the tunnels under the Sword’s will, stone filling gaps like the walls themselves were closing in. Thorn was already working with the pieces, his magic nudging rubble into place. Damien’s mouth tugged in a grim half-smile, approving the thought. Contain the bastards.
He planted the axe head against the floor, bracing both hands over the haft. “I'll cover one of the openings,” he said, voice clipped, already stepping into position. His stance was steady, but the crimson soaking his trouser leg left no room for doubt. He cast Hawthorn a glance, brow tilting. “If you’ve got a moment—mind patching me up?”
The words weren’t a plea. They were practical, as if asking for a whetstone to edge his blade. Damien set his shoulders, eyes hard on the dark mouth of the tunnel, and waited for the next surge.
Damien takes position in front of Tunnel Two, keeping his weapon ready (basically holding his action to swing first if a rat shows up). He asks Thorn for healing on his leg so he can hold steady when the next wave of ROUS comes.
Rock shifted across the tunnels under the Sword’s will, stone filling gaps like the walls themselves were closing in. Thorn was already working with the pieces, his magic nudging rubble into place. Damien’s mouth tugged in a grim half-smile, approving the thought. Contain the bastards.
He planted the axe head against the floor, bracing both hands over the haft. “I'll cover one of the openings,” he said, voice clipped, already stepping into position. His stance was steady, but the crimson soaking his trouser leg left no room for doubt. He cast Hawthorn a glance, brow tilting. “If you’ve got a moment—mind patching me up?”
The words weren’t a plea. They were practical, as if asking for a whetstone to edge his blade. Damien set his shoulders, eyes hard on the dark mouth of the tunnel, and waited for the next surge.
Damien takes position in front of Tunnel Two, keeping his weapon ready (basically holding his action to swing first if a rat shows up). He asks Thorn for healing on his leg so he can hold steady when the next wave of ROUS comes.
i speak for the trees
and they hate you bro
and they hate you bro
