I don't recall dispatching the guard that is laying at my feet, him entering or how I lured him in my seamless cell. I guess they were just sweating me after all, I broke before they came. Or they came after waiting for me to brake. I shake from my stupor, standing over a corpse, dagger in hand, door already ressessed. Blinding light piercing the opening. A quick scramble of clothes, a blur of brickwork and stairs. And, I can taste the air, the chill of the moons breath dances across my cheeks. It is a whole moon tonight so I have been gone at least one cycle, although I know in my soul it was many, many more. In that cell, in the dark, it feels like a lifetime has passed and in a way it has. I am not the same person who was locked away, solitude will do that to a man. I lost myself to madness more than once and had to piece myself back together, each time the cracks remained more deeply ingrained. I am simply what is left, my only hope is that enough of me remains unbroken. And I have brought enough of me from the cell.

Straining wood resonates, echoing up the stairwell I had used with a pitchy creek. The block I had bolstered the door with will not hold for very long at all. Needing an exit, I flick my head back an forth manically. Only, I notice promptly there is but one stairwell to this parapet and a sheer drop at every other side. With that realisation and the splintering of the door, I refocused my eyes. If I could keep them from the rooftop itself, I have a good chance of being able to best a fair amount of the guards, before they overwhelm me. The entrance to the stairwell is narrow enough that only one man at a time can fit. They could only concievably use thrusting attacks, as they could not possibly fit the arc of a swing inside the stone corridor. Tired beyond belief, hungry beyond comprehension and trapped. But, in a game I feel that I know well. I do not want to die, more yet, I do not want to return to that cell. I have conviction, I have the advantage and furthermore I have the skill. I have fenced since a young age and although I don't fully remember all of what I was taught by my multiple tutors, my body does.

One after another I parry, thrust and kick. It is a grind. It is important to send their dead and injured rolling back towards them. Not just to slow their progress but because once you build a big enough pile, regular men will stop passing it. One can understand how having to pass a pile of men taller than you can reduce your moral. I am hoping the fact that I am one man will exaggerate this fact, quickening the process. Although, I start to doubt these ants will ever stop swarming. To their credit they do not subside until the loud crashes of heavily armoured footsteps can be heard reaching the foot of the stairs. I can just about make out slight smiles under helms as the remaining guards start to take careful retreating steps, then the steel laden sentinel's footsteps resume. It would be naive to think the same tactic would work to even slow down an opponent this heavily armoured, so I stand back from the archway and wait. His eyes meet mine without him turning his head, they stay locked on mine until we stand on level ground. Steel still sheathed, only a flag in hand, held skyward. He stands stationary for just one moment before proceeding to step towards me, these are not measured steps of a cautious man, this is the quiet confidence of a warrior shaped by combat. Being that there is no escape, I take a breath, retake my stance and raise the tip of my blade to aim at his heart. Only, in the same instance I see my blade spin from my grasp.

Just like that, in one small movement of the wrist, my blade fought free of my grip. Unmoving, I watch my blade tumble skyward. My attention is completely encompassed by the length of spinning steel. As it carves an arc through the air as it emits a high pitched ring. My eyes followed my sword as it pierces solid stone, solid stone. I am awestruck, in complete disbelief of what I have just witnessed, no experienced. Such a minuscule movement, such swift effortlessness, such power. Finally I manage to tear my eyes from my weapon, to redirect my gaze in a more survival conscious direction; the direction of my opponent. Only, I quickly realise that I had been distracted for far too long. An expanding puddle of blood has formed already, and spread to a size comparable to my height. It gives me no surprise to see it is I feeding the spread. My life is flowing down my legs in streams, intersecting and separating at almost uniform intervals. Although, it doesn't appear to be liquid, moving as a lamilar flow it looks like a scarlet net cast on me from the ground. Like the blood I have already lost is beckoning my remaining precious amount to join it. Tracing higher up my body I see first that a spear is lodged under my ribs, one hands width from my heart. It was not a flag. I find myself thinking how this is impossible, I am one of the most highly trained swordsman in the realm, I have never heard of a warrior of our relm who is said to wield such ability. To defeat me in one swing, nay, one flick of their weapon. Nevertheless, I can't just stand here and die. So, calling on what strength I have left I start reaching for the spears shaft. A noise of complete surprise escapes my mouth as I discover the loss of my left hand above the wrist and the outer two fingers of my right. I have lost, I have been decimated. In this very moment, as my defeat must be blatantly apparent in my eyes, I am lifted into the air and launched over the parapet to fall to the mountainside. It is surprising how long it takes the force carrying me horizontal to be surpassed by the gravity of the fall. It feels like a plummet from the heavens, tearing through the clouds as the ground eagerly rushes to meet my face. Traveling threefold the speed a horse could gallop I passed the forest's canopy. A cloud of shining light appears ahead of me. I see a second cloud materialise behind as I pass through the first glowing shape, slowing my fall, then the second. I hit the ground at a mere running pace and black out.

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The sounds of troops scouring the forest wakes me, so I melt away into the darkness of the wilds. Somehow, my wounds have healed. Although, I still feel as though I have been trampled by an ox, it is much preferable to the state I had previously found myself in. My lost hand and fingers have returned. Is this the result of that magic that I had witnessed during my fall, as clouds do not typically glow. Or, was the whole thing a feverous hallucination and I meerly jumped. A quick cursory skyward glance immediately cures me of the notion I have simply survived due to luck. Alas I have no time to dwell on such things, every time my pace slows I can hear the sounds of men and hounds. More concerning still is that if I listen very carefully I can hear something in the trees, leaping occasionally in the heights; still a way back mind but moving quicker than the search party. While it is still dark I needed to lose them for good. So, I pick up my pace to a sprint as long as my lungs can carry me.

Some time later I stop to gather my wind. I take in my surroundings, scanning the trees. I have not heard any barks, footfalls or the all to recognisable taps of armour plates colliding for quite a while now. So, when I continue, I slow to a pace I can maintain as long as needed. After around three hours I stopped to rest for a moment. However, I know these men will have to track me until their superiors are satisfied, so the river is where I need to head. It boasts a quite sizeable and respectably perilous waterfall. I can use this place to feign my demise, facilitating my ability to sleep, eat and hopefully bath. I still need to extend the lead I have gained, so that I shall do. The forest and all who reside within sound completely asleep at this hour, so I try to achieve some semblance of stealth as I proceed, but proceed I must.