6th of Winter, 512 AV
"GET HIM!" The shouts and screams followed Taell into the night as he ran. He hadn't a clue how many would chase him outright, but after what had happened, he was sure they would pursue him to the ends of this world. The blood was still hot on his chest and face as he ran, stinging his eyes and salting his lips. The blade, blackened with the blood of his captors (the most vulgar of them) was heavy with murder in his hands. He shuttered to think how simple it was to pick up the instrument of death. To quietly flourish it, and then to set about killing men. The weight of blade seemed light then- it was an instrument of freedom- it was his key to a better life. He threw the bloodied long sword aside with a clatter, hoping to throw at least a few of the men in the direction of the sound. He prayed apology to Priskil, thanking her for the vision of freedom, lamenting that blood should be spilled for it. Muttering his solem words, ducking and dodging the rolling landscape to evade capture, the elements washed through him. Though the season was early, Winter had arrived, and the night was a cold one. The air was frigid to say the least, blowing in gusts as if trying to hold him back from freedom.
He needed a road. He was close enough to make it to Syliras, but far enough away that they wouldn't immediately know he was headed there. His body screamed protest at each and every step, but Taell could not afford to slow in the slightest. Not while those men hunted him. It occured to him that he'd never be able to rest easy again- not until he reached the City. It had come to him as if in a vision- a name bathed in light and hope- the fortress city Syliras- jewel of the land. Freedom waited there- sweet and pure. All he had to do now was get there. All he had to do now, was run. There was no pain that could account for a man giving back his freedom. No fatigue that made a man go quietly back to slavery. If Taell had to run forever, then the hope of freedom would sustain him that long. It had to.
The young man tossed and turned in his sleep, a prisoner to nightmares both real and imagined. He moaned quietly and gasped- nearly choking on his own fear. He was covered with a white sheet, had been laid to rest by representatives of the Knighthood. Ivis had been told of the situation and assured both men that Taell would be looked after by Choa or Calyna- whichever was free and, of course, had kept his word.
A cracked rib, some serious bruising, exposure and fatigue comprised the brunt of the man's medical issues, however there was an underlying malnourishment that concerned Choa in particular- it seemed like the man hadn't eaten well in months. There was nothing for it now, all the staff could do was tend to him and wait- hoping he would come around.