Thread: Sword & Shield

The first thing he saw was a blur. The first thing he felt was confusion, was disorientation. Those were the first. The seconds things that he saw and that he felt were the roof of the tent and the hard, unforgiving earth, Tierian's brown eyes wincing when his head bounced against the ground. His captor had tilted his chair back, sending him crashing backward apparently the orders to prepare him for the Lion's arrival held nothing about not getting in a few pot shots along the way. Grr-unghh... The groan was simple, reactive. Tierian's head tilted left and right slowly as he blinked and blinked, closing his eyes hard, opening them wide. A fist seized his still-dampened hair, jerking him and the wooden chair upright - upright, setting him up for a fist that came viciously from one side. His body twisted against the coarse hemp rope, the unforgiving material already chafing his bare wrists. Then another fist, this across the other cheek. Hazy. Still dizzy... He couldn't yet make out where he was or what was going on. There was just a sharp burning sensation from what felt like several blows to his ribs, several blurry forms encircling him, spitting, slapping. Taunting. Tight as the ropes were around his wrists and ankles, when left untouched the prince lurched forward as much as he could, arms straining, violently coughing. That long, dampened brown hair that usually reached to and sat lightly upon his shoulders now half clung to his sweat-slicked face and neck and half dangled freely with the forward lurch. They were leaving now. Blinking heavily, again and again, he couldn't make out much other from the sights and sounds than that they had been men, that he was tied up, and that he had been struck numerous times. What happened...? Sitting back with a groan, with a wince, Tierian's abs ached no matter which way his weight shifted. Fuck, he murmured, breaths coming in short, light spurts. Shoulders slumped. Eyes moved about, things starting to come into focus. A tent. He was in a tent. From the looks of it an important one, just by its size. Was he a prisoner? He was tied up. He could feel the ropes now. God, did they really need to be this tight? Why was he not in a proper holding area? ...because it'd have been unmistakable who he was, for sure. Blinking hard, everything was still a little blurry. There was one thing he caught sight of that sobered the fallen hero up quickly though, something that chilled him from his spine to his very soul - to the left, by the door, were a pair of Ellencian banners set on either side of the tent's entrance. Tierian's head dipped, his face enshrouded in cascading brown locks. His stomach was empty. His very core went cold. He was an Ellencian prisoner. What... when had he... He remembered sounding the retreat, eyes shutting tight now, trying to remember. ...No, no, did he get that far? He was going to. He was going to sound it, but he had to find either Gregory or Percival first. They were surrounded. They were being slaughtered, more akin at that point to animals than soldiers. Thousands... thousands... Something happened. He didn't remember what, but he couldn't recall what had occurred after trying to find one of his honor guards with a horn to sound a retreat. Had the rest of them gotten away? ...They had to, he assured himself. There was no way, some of them... no way they'd have fallen to half-assed Ellencian men. Even know, without knowing the casualties Tierian assured himself the battle was a loss, but only a setback within a month there'd be a new surge that would have these bastards quivering in their boots. And in half that time he'd be free. A sobering stream of lukewarm water cascaded from the top of his head. Lifting his gaze, water trickling across his forehead, down his cheeks, and from his shoulder-length hair to his shoulders and neck, Tierian looked up. His eyes were still sore a bit, his whole head aching really, but it was improving. He could make out the woman standing before him. He heard her words, too. Your Highness. Yeah, they knew who he was. Tierian looked to her only briefly, acknowledging her, gazing into her gray eyes a moment, then eyeing her physical form. Was she a nurse? That would make sense, them wanting to make sure their goldmine was in good health. Tierian wondered how much they'd stick Tamur for for his return instantly after, though, he was strick with a pang of guilt for them having to pay anything. How could he have been so blind as to lose? He should have seen it. Should have spent more time preparing, should have been smarter about his allies... should have... But if she was a nurse, she sure wasn't dressed the part. His eyes narrowed at her quizzically. A messenger? Perhaps. Behind her and slightly to the side he could see his removed armor, silver accented with teal, the coat of arms displayed over the left breast a gryphon gripping a bushel of arrows in each talon and a snake in its beak. His halberd was leaning up against the desk. That left him tied up in a simple cotton short sleeve shirt and pants, a simple leather belt, and light leather boots. The once-rich colors of his shirt, also displaying his family's crest, a crest that had become the symbol of Tamur, was heavily blotched in parts with blood. It wasn't Tierian's, he was without any major injury it was the blood of numerous Ellencian soldiers, slaying so many in the fray that this much dripped down through his armor to stain his shirt and pants. He also saw a second set of armor he recognized, this one set on a stand and likely due to be cleaned and shined. It made his blood run cold, telling him exactly whose tent he was in, Then, immediately after, that same blood boiled. The Lion of Ellencia. Leave, wench, Tierian snarled, eyes on the armor, no longer looking at her. Go fetch him. I'll speak to this cowardly lion myself... Couldn't beat me without treachery? Rather tie me up than face me like a man? You run and tell your 'hero' that a cornered animal is twice as dangerous!