Brighid of Gauwynn
When the light of the study hit her face, Brighid was tossed roughly to the ground in front of her. She collided with the cold, stone floor and just laid there for a second while Winston gallantly strolled past. “Don’t try to take it so personally,” his voice reached her on the floor, and she only hissed in response, “I’ve killed several knights at this point. You’re just the latest.”
Brighid gritted her teeth, the way she laid on the floor she could taste the dirt on the path under her, and worse, she was beginning to feel woozy due to blood loss. She moved her head to look down at her new wound. A cut-, no more like a gash, stretched across the right side of her body, no longer than the length of her hand. It was very much still freely bleeding, accomplishing the dismal task of trying to repaint the stone floors of the study. It was ghastly, in short, and even looking at it was making her head numb.
She needed to stop the bleeding. She needed to stop Winston, She needed to check on Correl… the list was growing longer and longer, and for a moment, the ground seemed to stretch long and awkwardly forward at the thought of doing anything that wasn’t lying on the cold floor. That was probably the blood loss talking. Brighid hissed once again, trying to collect her thoughts before they spilled out and away from her. She lifted her head for a moment, trying to ignore the swimming feeling behind her eyes, and her head immediately crashed back to the floor, garnering the attention of Winston.
He’d been preoccupying himself, tearing through the books on the shelves, and tossing them every which way, when he heard Brighid’s poor attempt, “Oh! Are you getting impatient, Lord Gauwynn, I do apologize.” He said the last part mockingly, complete with a fake bow, “I’ll dispose of you soon enough, but first I have some research I need to do…”
Struggling once again to lift her head, Brighid managed to say, “Research? …For what?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Winston taunted. It was strange for Brighid to see the same facial patterns of the child she’d come to know, marred by the large yellow eyes of something that never belonged in this world. Though the humor fell from his face and was quickly replaced by a frown, “Though… If I need you, you’ll be the first to know, Lord Knight.” He walked over to tower above Brighid’s crumpled form. “I expected more from the Lord of the house’s study.” He harrumphed, taking the time to nudge Brighid to the side with his foot, like he was inspecting a wild flower on the road.
“Sorry… to disappoint… you” she grunted, struggling to at least sit up. It may have only been one wound but the sensation of it… it felt like someone had poured fire into Brighid’s body, and it pooled into where her wound was, leaving a horrid burning sensation, much like the lingering feeling she’d get in her arms from time to time. But if she could just sit up…
She needed time, time to think of a good enough plan to either get out of here, or take Winston down… With what? Brighid tried to pull herself up, ignoring Winston, ignoring the pain from her back and the pulsing, echoey feeling behind her eyes as she lifted herself into an upright position. She wasn’t leaned against anything, so she seemed to be tottering close to falling over, and was forced to use one arm to balance herself. She hear Winston snort somewhere in front of her, and in spite of her vision swimming she managed a rather impressive glare in his direction.
“What is a changeling doing murdering knights?” Brighid questioned, her voice low and dangerous. She wondered if Winston was still an arrogant loudmouth.
Winston eyes widened in surprise for moment, before trying to recover with a small, shaky laugh, “Ha… I’ve no idea what your talking about, my lord…” his eyes darted momentarily to the blade still held in one hand before looking back to Brighid, “And besides, I’ll be the one asking questions here-”
“How many other changelings are parading around the court of Yor?” Brighid ignored him, she watched the blade of course, but didn’t care for anything coming out of his mouth. Not technically, she wanted him flustered. She carefully moved a hand to inspect the damage of her wound.
“What even is a changeling anyway? You must be delusional from your injuries…” Winston lied, trying to wave away Brighid’s questions with a smile. “I’d hope I had more time to question you before killing you but it seems I-”
“You really expect… you think a child could kill some of the greatest knights in this kingdom? Do you think a human child is that strong? Was that Duhlmor a changeling as well?” Brighid felt the wet blood on her finger tips, and nearly hissed in pain but covered it by asking all the questions in her head right now. She’d be able to stand if she could ignore the pain long enough. Ignore the smell of iron making her head dizzy, or the strange weight to her body that made her feel sluggish. She just needed time… to catch Winston off his guard.
“How dare you?” Winston hissed, “Duhlmor was a fool and a brute, and I am nothing like him!” Brighid had hit a nerve apparently. She watched him tighten his grip on the blade but he only began to march around in place, like a teenager having a breakdown. “I was toppling entire fiefdoms like Caldune while that oaf got lost on the way to Odessa! Bested by simple bastards stumbling about! He couldn’t even kill one target! I’ve killed hundreds!” Winston roared.
Winston stomped over to Brighid finally, stepping on her legs and aiming his blade at her throat, “I was being sentimental. I won’t question you, I’ll find out all your secrets from your corpse!” His voice had once again returned to a cold whisper, but this time Brighid smiled. “You might find that a bit difficult…” she mused, before reeling back and punching Winston in the stomach as hard as she could.
For all Winston’s monstrous, inhuman strength, he was still a child’s shape. And a hit from the seven-foot brick house that was Brighid would still do damage, fortunately. He was knocked off his foot, and pushed to the ground a foot away from her with the force of the hit. Not as much as Brighid hoped, but she was injured.
She managed to pull herself up, breathing out as calmly as she could and ignoring the burning pain. On uneasy feet, she stood around the room, Winston was already starting to recover from his hit. Brighid couldn’t see anything hat would make a suitable weapon, just books, loose papers, and journals. Maybe there was one… Brighid shuddered involuntarily. She looked around the room until she found a rather haphazard pile of books, which stunk to high heaven. Specifically of old blood and iron. The smell was only made worse by the fact that her own, fresher blood was now adding to the collection. Still there it was. There had to be a weapon under that pile.
When Brighid had finally started to make her move, that was exactly when Winston snapped back to action. He growled, jumped up on his feet and rushed forward, that bone blade ready to take another swing at Brighid.
Brighid only narrowly managed to dodge out of the way, earning a long thin cut across her forearm for the effort. She watched Winston carry past and shakily stop. Until she could get a real weapon in her hands she would have to make do. Brighid took one of the books splayed across the floor in a quick movement and chucked it at Winston as he was faced away from her. The book connected with his shoulder, sending him bowing forward onto the ground once more. Brighid made her way to the pile, sort of speed-walking past Winston on the ground, only for the little devil to wrap his arms around her calf and bite her.
That hurt, more than Brighid thought it would. She fell to the ground and looked to her feet where Winston looked… decidedly less human. His face had become a decidedly darker red, which suited his large yellow eyes, his irises were gone as well, giving off the aura of a dead fish. And the mouth that was now trying to chew off her calf was full to the brim with sharp, pointed teeth. Involuntarily, Brighid cried out, trying to back away but simply dragging him with her.
“Jeez…you really are a monster…” she hissed out, looking for something else hit him with. He dropped his own blade behind him when Brighid threw a book, and the weapon she was looking for was only a few paces behind her… Brighid went with the latter, pulling herself along the ground. She tried kicking at Winston with her free leg, but he simply ignored her attempts, instead latching on tightly, At this point he would take her leg off.
Brighid’s trudge across the floor stopped when she felt something against her back. She turned and saw the haphazard pile from earlier, letting out a strangled cry of joy. She began to throw the books from the pile at Winston. Over and over, as the pile became smaller and smaller and revealed an overwhelmingly rotten scent: For a second it was too much all at once, the smell from her own wounds, the pain all over her body, the scent of death and decay in front of her… but there it was, sticking out of the mound of a ghost from her past. A broken sword, no hilt just the metal of a blade which was once much longer than presently showing.
Brighid winced once more, flinching back for a second before reaching out, grabbing the blade with one hand and twisting it out.
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