>>6191626You turn back to see that soiled britches or not, all three of them are giving a furious chase, their daggers raised with violent intent. Looking back was a mistake, as you don't catch a missing pavestone. With a twist of your ankle, you let out a meep as you tumble to the ground. Your eyes clench shut, ready for the impact and whatever those thugs intend for you.
But the impact never comes. A pair of strong arms catches you before you fall and steadies you on your feet. The chiding voice that accompanies them is a familiar rumble, deep and powerful as a bear. "You should be more careful, Valeria. My foolish little brother would be quite upset if you hurt yourself."
Your eyes open to see a man in black ironsilks interpose himself between you and the thugs giving chase. A sleeveless red greatcoat flutters on his back, emblazoned with the Gull of Port Caplan carrying a sword in its talons; the sigil of Lord Caplan's personal guard. In his left hand he clutches a silver broadsword that reflects the light of the moon. His right he keeps behind his back, as if in mockery of the men who stand before him. Red hair slowly fading into ashen grey crowns his head, bound low in a loose ponytail.
Not your dear, sweet Mikhail, no. No, this is a man of cold forged iron, the unparalleled genius of the sword taken into Lord Caplan's personal guard at the tender age of ten years old. If not the deadliest man on the continent, then one amongst a handful of men and women whose worth upon the battlefield would exceed an entire legion. The older brother whose shadow Mikhail forever chases after: <span class="mu-i">Siegfried</span>.
Siegfried does not turn his head back towards you when he says, "You are a gentle soul, Valeria. Close your eyes or take your leave of this place. What is to follow shall stain your soul if you see it."
The suspicious captain and his subordinates stumble to a halt. Wary as they were with you, but filled with a confidence they should not have. After all, if you were only blowing hot air, why should they believe Siegfried is anything but another actor playing the tough? Perhaps if they knew his name and face, they would flee and never return. Or perhaps they would simply refuse to believe it's anything but another ruse.
Either way, they are dead men walking. They just don't know it yet. The captain even has the gall to demand, "Ach, and who in the nine hells are <span class="mu-i">you</span> supposed to be?"
Siegfried's expression remains flat and focused. Without confidence, without self assurance, simply stating the facts as they are, his voice rumbles deep as the ocean's crashing tides in answer.
"Your executioner."
<span class="mu-s">What do you do?</span>
>Run>Close your eyes.>Watch.>Something else? 