She pressed the cold metal end against his throat, basically making him stand; as he did she kept a keen eye on his free hand.
“I’ll use you as a hostage. Drop your shield,” He did as she said, the metal clanged against the marble floor, she continued to press the blunt end of her staff into his throat, so much so that he began to back up towards the open door. As least it was open until she shoved her chin toward it and slammed it shut, the wooden bar slamming into place as well.
Battle sounds echoed inside the room, from the open holes cut into the tower, the usual garble of shouting and steel colliding, but Marsden could also make out Ramwolf’s whistling long sword, Douglas’s crushing blows, the whip of Winston’s arrows. Longing to return to that kind of battle and yet here he was now in the battle for his life alone against a madwoman.
Some said that once a person steeped themselves into the realm of dark magic that they lost touch with reality and became crazed with a thirst for more power.
Would the others be able to locate him now? The sounds of the conflict began to dwindle, the Knights were either slaughtering at a greater rate, or the soldiers were retreating, either way the end was nigh.
He backed up until he felt the door and now with the staff at his throat and the door to his back he had little room to maneuver and unsheathe his broadsword.
Marsden looked down the length of the five foot staff and for once he found his eyes locking into her stare, her eyes were dull yellow with a hint of a brighter green around her pupil, perhaps remnants of the person she once was.
Her pale white skin contrasted greatly against her jet black hair, which laid flat against her head. Her dark purple robes covering nearly every inch of her skin, aside from her hands, and the area where her neck and collar bones met.
Her features were soft, yet stiffened by the life she’d had as a sorceress, probably something Grom had forced her into!