Of The Line Of Estelondo: Percival's Tale.

Chapter Three: Debts Are Always Paid, In Iron, Or Gold.

At that moment, a massive surge of vines, branches, and small animals dove through the windows. Five vines to each person, grabbed the guards, and Gwathnasehí. As the vines wrapped around Gwathnasehí, his eyes widened with panic, and he begged "Please? No!"

Faramaurea raised her fist, and smiled deviously, before splaying open her fingers. Crimson splattered on her now red and white dress, and her face, as the vines pulled with a intense amount of force, ripping him limb from limb, and removing his head from his shoulders.

Percival looked on, party in horror, and partly in satisfaction, while standing up. He glanced at the guards, who were currently not dismembered, but were being held aloft by vines around their necks, and limbs. Then he returned his gaze to Faramaurea, and gestured for her to put the two guards down.

Faramaurea dropped them unceremoniously, and they clattered into the ground. He picked up their rapiers, and threw them out the window, before kneeling in front of them. He said nothing, just stared into the very essence of their being, until he reached a conclusion on what to do with them.

Drawing his rapier, he walked up to the first man, and without delay, stuck him on top of the head, with the hilt of his rapier. The guard collapsed unconscious, and the other guard stood. He raised his hands, and requested of Percival: "Let me die standing."

As Percival considered his request, Faramaurea's eyes had cleared but she was still covered in blood, and looked rather intimidating. "What is your name, sir?"

"My name is Ixdrianod." The dragonborn answered, lowering his hands down by his side.

"I did not kill your friend, he is merely unconscious. Why would you have me kill you?" Percival, asked perplexed, but not unwilling. His blood still pulsed through his body in a battle rage, all while his heart beat with a rhythm faster than the clopping  hooves of a galloping horse.

The guard stiffened slightly. "When the King of Meneltarma comes through, he will interrogate those in the city who were aware of you, and their families. If I am dead, I can only hope that they will not go after my family. If I am dead. " He sighed, "Do it!"

Percival hefted his rapier, and thrust it through the Man's heart, at which point he immediately collapsed. Faramaurea sighed, and quietly spoke. "There is no hope left, for the worlds of elves and men. We live in a world, where people are forced to choose between the death of their family, or themselves. I do not want to live in this world anymore."

Percival ran over, taking both of Faramaurea hands in his, and halsed, "Never, say that again, Faramaurea. I will keep you safe, if I can. I have our next destination in mind. Do you remember where our mother lived, Orónënya?"

Faramaurea nodded, and said, "Our mother was the queen of Meneltarma, and The ruler of Elorean. Since we clearly can not go back to Meneltarma, I suspect that you are referring to Elorean."

Percival affirmed her deduction, and replied, "Our mother's people will welcome us, as if we were their own blood. That is the destination I next envision for us."

"But Gygax's forces will have checked there first, Percival. Le Elorean is unsafe, for that reason."

Percival smiled confidently. "Therefore, because they already checked the region, it will be some time, until they check it again. We will have peace, Faramaurea, at least for a while. Do you agree, Orónënya?"

Faramaurea nodded gleefully, and as they started back towards The Obsidian Hall, they discussed the dream Percival had promised to tell her about.

. . .