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Oh what an unfortunate circumstance Varré found himself in, bleeding out in a ditch.
It would seem his words came back to bite him a twisted form of karma, at least he could be satisfied in the thought that he would not be going alone.
The agonal breathing of the wretch whom did him in reaching his ears like a sweet and tortured melody, he couldn’t help the rasping chuckle that passed his lips, sure they may have gotten the drop on him but the war sugeon had far more skill and percision than the hacking and slashing brute. One accurately placed stab was all it took.
Varré lay still on the ground, hands on his abdomen warm from his still flowing blood, while the rest of him felt cold, whether it was from the blood loss or chill in the air it did not matter. He listened to the evening sounds of Limgrave, the chip of crickets, swaying of grass in the breeze, it felt peaceful and was a slight comfort in his last moments.
It was then he heard the approaching tromps of leather boots through the grass, a large blade with curved tip came into his bleary line of sight, the blades tip nudged his opponents corpse, it’s wielder let out a light and gruff hum, clearly the fellow came to the conclusion they were dead.
Varré gave a slight derisive huff, surely any fool should be able to recognise a corpse right in front of them.
As his consciousness began to give, he silently cursed the intruder for disturbing his final moments.
Varré could sense their large form couching near him and feel the sensation of fingertips lightly skim across his wounds as he finally gave into his blood loss.
-
Magpie adjusted the fur on his shoulders intent on keeping out any chill that threatened to creep into any gaps in his armor, autumn was swiftly approaching and soon he would need to rejoin his family to help prepare for the incoming winter, no matter what grace dictated of him.
He had already slain Godrick and taken possession of his great rune, so grace could wait till spring for him to do more for its uncaring light.
Magpie gazed at the horizon, the colors of dusk reflecting off his ice blue eyes, thoughts occupied by invisionments of a warm campfire and cooked meats, as he continued the trek to his little campsite.
He took a deep breath of the chilled air, choking suddenly at the strong and harsh iron tang that filled his nose. He came to a halt scanning around while taking smaller huffs of air to better trace the smells origin in the constantly shifting breeze. He spotted cyan fabric peeking through the tall swaying grass, he watched for a moment waiting for movement before deciding to approach.
He eyed the bloodied fabrics and leathers of the unknown warrior, bringing his dismounter from its resting place on his shoulder he nudged the person to stir movement, he let out a hum figuring they were very much dead. A quiet huff grabbed his attention, and he quickly turned his head, there was another person further from the road obscured by taller shrubs, they lay still on their back hands resting on bloody slashed fabric.
Contemptuous half lidded silvers eyes stared at him from behind a white mask, Magpie stared back lost in the smaller person's hateful gaze, watching unmoving as the, most likely a man’s eyes started to unfocus. He shook his head and crouched next to them as their eyes slowly shut, gently touching his fingers to the stranger's blood soaked abdomen.
-
Varré stirred to the sound of crackling and feeling of warmth, he scrunched his face in confusion, wasn't he supposed to be dead?
He fought his lids open being met with dark and starry sky and a glowing light to his side, glancing about Varré spotted a campfire, the source of the noise. He could feel the tug of stitches around his abdomen when he tried to shift his position, did someone from the dynasty come to his aid? Then why wasn't he taken back to Siofra River?
It was then with his mind slowly clearing he realized the body against his, much larger and broader than himself, their chin above his head where they both lay together, beneath a wool quilt, their face well outside Varré's line of sight when he turned to look at them.
He stared into the person’s breast for a moment, as he recalled the encounter he had before he fell unconscious. Attempting to sit up against the burning protest of his body, Varré froze when the man next to him sturred, the man's hand that he didn’t notice had been resting on his body squeezed Varré’s hip gently.
With a sleep roughed voice rumbling through his chest, sending vibrations through Varré, he assured Varré he was safe and coaxed him to lay back down, never moving from his position or even lifting his head.
Varré wanted to push away from the strange man, but he was oh so terribly tired and the man was so warm, settling back down as his eyes began to droop, Varré decided he would sneak away at first light, after some much needed rest.