Wednesday, June 5, 2013

Flight or Flight

Shit.

Shit shit shit.

Vilnius was dead.  Halkkor was pissed, out for more blood, and had me in his crosshairs.  Considering I was the reason he was so pissed, I guess I couldn't blame him.  But in about zero point zero-two-six seconds his blade was going to be ventilating at least one of my vital organs.  I had to do something and I had almost no time to think.

I looked around the office, frantically considering my options:  First, I could run--

That one sounded like it would work.  I immediately stopped brainstorming and focused all my energies on fleeing the scene.  Perhaps sensing that I was about to teleport, Halkkor lunged at me, effectively closing the distance between us.  I dodged to the left, focused on the barren expanse of wilderness near the Barracks, and teleported.

But with speed that was truly frightening, Hallkor's hand shot out and gripped my ankle just as I departed.  When I appeared in the rocky plain a moment later, Halkkor appeared with me, looking every bit as pissed as before.

Shit.

Shit shit shit.

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