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Description
body div#devskin0 hr { }

The mist roiled like squid ink. Shale clattered down the slope.

“It's moved,” whispered Sir Livermore. “Uphill, and downwind. I think it knows where we are.”
Cyrinna swallowed a whimper, while Rian looked blankly at his master, his empty hands shaking. He'd boasted all his life that he was destined to become a knight, and now he would end as a charred skeleton beside that of the girl he was oathbound to rescue. They'd find his sword a mile back, where he'd dropped it in fright, and know the true extent of his failure.
Livermore shifted his weight, gauging the loose ground. He was glad he'd opted to go without full plate armour. Between the extra weight and the noise, he'd have been easy prey for those grasping foot-long talons. If he was going to get more than halfway uphill, he'd need to step lightly, and fleet as the wind.
“Please no,” croaked Rian, crawling back against the small bluff they were hidden behind. He could see his master plotting, and the very idea of meeting the beast head-on set his guts to freezing. “If we stay still, it might -”
Livermore took the measure of his squire with tired eyes.
“The wyrm is a far better hunter than you or I. If I can track it, you can be sure it's tracking us. Our mission is to ensure the girl's safety, first and foremost. I can think of but one way to deliver on that promise.”
He handed his sword to Cyrinna, who met his eyes and took it.
“When I have its attention, take Rian, and run, as fast as you can. I believe in you.”
Cyrinna nodded, her tears like embers.
“Oh,” said Livermore, drawing his dagger, “and if you ever go up against a dragon, I have it on good authority there's a weak point behind the jaw.”
With that, he charged into the mist.
They waited in silence as his footsteps faded.
Cyrinna's gaze was fixed on the shield Livermore had left behind. Its crest was a cormorant looking skyward on a tawny field. She burned it into her memory.
The silence continued for several minutes, until it was broken.
Distantly she heard a grunt of effort, and then the gargling shriek of the beast. There was a flash of red, and then another, and finally a third, which cast a very specific silhouette through the fog.
At that, Cyrinna bolted, the tatters of her sacrificial dress flaring behind her, dragging Rian with one hand and brandishing Deliverance in the other.
Of course, back then, the sword was just a sword. It would earn its name in the years to come.

Description
body div#devskin0 hr { }

The mist roiled like squid ink. Shale clattered down the slope.

“It's moved,” whispered Sir Livermore. “Uphill, and downwind. I think it knows where we are.”
Cyrinna swallowed a whimper, while Rian looked blankly at his master, his empty hands shaking. He'd boasted all his life that he was destined to become a knight, and now he would end as a charred skeleton beside that of the girl he was oathbound to rescue. They'd find his sword a mile back, where he'd dropped it in fright, and know the true extent of his failure.
Livermore shifted his weight, gauging the loose ground. He was glad he'd opted to go without full plate armour. Between the extra weight and the noise, he'd have been easy prey for those grasping foot-long talons. If he was going to get more than halfway uphill, he'd need to step lightly, and fleet as the wind.
“Please no,” croaked Rian, crawling back against the small bluff they were hidden behind. He could see his master plotting, and the very idea of meeting the beast head-on set his guts to freezing. “If we stay still, it might -”
Livermore took the measure of his squire with tired eyes.
“The wyrm is a far better hunter than you or I. If I can track it, you can be sure it's tracking us. Our mission is to ensure the girl's safety, first and foremost. I can think of but one way to deliver on that promise.”
He handed his sword to Cyrinna, who met his eyes and took it.
“When I have its attention, take Rian, and run, as fast as you can. I believe in you.”
Cyrinna nodded, her tears like embers.
“Oh,” said Livermore, drawing his dagger, “and if you ever go up against a dragon, I have it on good authority there's a weak point behind the jaw.”
With that, he charged into the mist.
They waited in silence as his footsteps faded.
Cyrinna's gaze was fixed on the shield Livermore had left behind. Its crest was a cormorant looking skyward on a tawny field. She burned it into her memory.
The silence continued for several minutes, until it was broken.
Distantly she heard a grunt of effort, and then the gargling shriek of the beast. There was a flash of red, and then another, and finally a third, which cast a very specific silhouette through the fog.
At that, Cyrinna bolted, the tatters of her sacrificial dress flaring behind her, dragging Rian with one hand and brandishing Deliverance in the other.
Of course, back then, the sword was just a sword. It would earn its name in the years to come.