amberdrake: (this endless mercy mile)
[personal profile] amberdrake
(( OOC: Doing this scene to show the character as I play him now, albeit in a different setting, with help from my roommate [personal profile] badly_behaved_priest, stepping in for this as [personal profile] treesus. Also, we both tend to prefer past tense, but can RP in present tense too. ))

Amberdrake woke with a splitting headache and a sour taste in his mouth. That wasn't strange. Neither was waking up in the mud. Had he passed out after some emergency, then, and not been moved? What had happened to the others?

He blinked his eyes open. And then he was awake enough for the sickly-sweet smell of death -- all too damned familiar, that -- to hit his senses. Rot, decay, old and festering. He hadn't smelled this since traveling with Silver Veil through the subjugated lands of Ma'ar's forces. For an instant, he was there again, hiding in the wagon, peeking out of a hole in the canvas despite his horror. Searching, as always, for his family's faces among the fallen... and the dying...

That instant passed when he gagged. Had the smell just gotten stronger? He sat up.

Time to move, kestra'chern. Even you have better danger sense than this.

And he did, especially after his time in Haven. The first glimpse of the walking dead reminded him of that city. He snapped his shields up before his Empathy could be overwhelmed. But then the undead human turned to look at him, and Drake felt a whole new brand of fear lance through his heart.

That thing isn't shambling around slowly. Get up, you idiot! Get up!

Drake scrambled to his feet even as the undead made to sprint for him. Only decades of experience at handling hostile clients and panicked patients gave him the instincts to react. He ducked, shoved his elbow into the creature's stomach, and flipped it onto its back.

He was smart enough not to wait to see what happened next; the kestra'chern took off at a sprint of his own, heading for the ruins of some sort of huge statue. Where the hell was he? Not important, not yet. Something screamed overhead, and the healer dove for cover without glancing up. He was from a world, after all, that had hosted makaar!

Amberdrake came up from his dive, and kept running. He shed the tiny bells in his hair as he ran, and shrugged off his colorful outer robe to land in the mud behind him. Years as a noncombatant in combat situations -- no, a lifetime as a noncombatant in combat situations! -- had taught him plenty about making himself a less obvious target.

He slid to a halt behind the broken statue, putting his back to it and panting for air, his gaze raking over the area. The healer knew he wasn't safe. Where to run for next? An Empathic blast wouldn't affect these dead things, he knew. The Healing Gift? Maybe, but he'd have to get close to each one without being killed by the others, and what if they were infectious, like in Haven?

No more time, run!

And so he did.
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amberdrake: art from the books (Default)
Amberdrake k'Leshya

December 2016

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