Drip… drip… drip…
The sound of drops falling echoed in the strange place. The man hunched in a corner gasped and wrenched his hand away from his abdomen. The rag he had been clutching over the open gushing wound there, fell limply from his hand and plopped unceremoniously upon the rough stone ground.
He leaned against the stone archway and gasped as he tried to stagger upright, intent upon an unseen goal. “My Lord,” a voice rang out, eerily loud in the hushed space.
“I’m here Frederick,” grunted the man, still trying to get himself upright.
Around the corner, rushed a man that was in complete contrast to his gloomy surroundings, clad in a golden flowing cape as well as bejeweled court attire, including puffed sleeves and an inordinate amount of lace. His features were also delicate and aristocratic, with a plush mouth currently contorted into a mue of distress. He waved a flowy piece of green silk about in his hand as he ran over, “This is all I could find my Lord.” He said, wringing his hand in distress.
“That will do, Frederick, wrap it around the wound as best as you can, I cannot afford to loose any more blood. We need must be ready to receive the reinforcements.” Grunted the injured man, himself dressed in grungy half-armour.
Frederick instantly knelt and started tiring the green silk around the other man’s waist. As he pulled it tight, a groan fell from the man’s mouth and he grimaced in pain. “I’m sorry, Si-” stammered Frederick, being interrupted by a stern glare from the injured man.
“Be careful, Sire, for you are the Crown Prince of the Empire, here to greet our Northern allies and bring them back to the battlefield.” The injured man hissed through clenched teeth, rolling his eyes pointedly towards the other presences in the place. A brown robed, stern-faced man accompanied with a soldier, stood facing away from the two, at the mouth of the courtyard.
Then, suddenly, a horn rang out, and they all straightened, as they got ready to greet the incoming army.
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