Hermitcraft Oneshots

The Broken Knight (PT 1)

This is just a medieval AU sorta thing, except their polytheistic and there's magic. You know, what you write when you're bored. Staring everyone's favorite knight: Wels. And Co-staring everyone's favorite Void hopping admin, Xisuma.
———
Men in armor lay, they never stood a chance. Fire consumed everything in sight, nothing stood the test of time, as once sturdy structures lay crumbled, the men defending it fallen in the ruin.

All but one warrior was left dead, as crimson patches stained the beautiful green rolling hills.

Clouds threatened a storm, but the only person to witness it was a broken figure, matted in blood, with a defeated expression. Which brings up the question, if a storm blows in, but only a regretful, horrified man is there to witness it, does it really matter?

The man laid there, eyes closed, contemplating. He had just wanted to die, but the gods had another plan. They always had.

———

A young boy runs through the streets, his messy dirty blonde hair streaking like lighting, as his feet barely touched the ground. His smile is unmatched, and devastated the sun.

He wore the clothes of a middle class child, a brown tunic and some light pants to accompany the spring weather. His leather boots were soft and worn, but comfortable.

The boy started to go towards the market, jumping over crates and baskets, ducking around people. He giggled lightly, and the people who saw him whizz by couldn't help but smile as well. However, the smiles dulled when two armor clad men came barreling after him.

The guards clumsily fumbled over themselves, knocking over crates and baskets that the boy had so deftly avoided, and bumping into civilians as they went.

The boy, identified as Wels by the guards chasing after him, looked behind him to stick his tongue out at the guards. As he did, he bumped into a behemoth of a man, who had purposely stepped in his way.

The hulking man gripped the small boy's arm, holding a curved blade to his neck. His deep bellowing laugh rang out, as the two guards caught up, and quickly drew their swords.

The man spoke, his face hidden behind cloth. "I bet he'd be worth something in ransom, no?" He said, edging the knife closer to the boys neck.

Wels cringed a bit, but he knew what he had to do.

He quickly turned his neck, blood spilling out from the resulting wound from the blade. He simultaneously twisted his arm, and a loud and sickening crack could be heard, as Wels wormed his way from the surprised mans grip.

The second after the cut on his neck was made, however, the flesh quickly started to stitch together, weaving fresh skin over the cut. And the arm he had twisted, was starting to right itself, mending the bones he had fractured with a series of cracking and breaking noises.

The hulking man, understandably shaken, took a few steps back, before bolting in the other direction.

The two guards had better things to do, and looked towards Wels instead. His light blue eyes looked a bit annoyed, but not in pain, or traumatized.

When the guards inspected the areas the wounds previously had been, they found they couldn't pinpoint the exact spot.

———

Now, as Sir WelsKnight of Serka lay, he wished he could die. He wished the slash in his side had killed him. He wished he could join his brothers above the forming storm. He wished. He wished. He wished. He prayed to all the gods, yet none answered. Now he let out a small chuckle, a broken, wheezing sound.