Eirkham Delven of the Ardor Staff, Warlock of the West
…In training.
The man raced through the woods, brambles snagging his robes and ripping at the old fabric as he sprinted for his life. Horse hooves thundered behind him as dogs howled their continued pursuit. He almost considered leaving the fabric behind as it caught on yet another unfortunately thorny vine, but then no one would take him seriously as a warlock without it and that somehow seemed vital.
His breathing and ragged and his pale face had turned a bright red as he raced towards the edge line of the forest. A town lay beyond, he knew, and if he could just reach it there might be someone willing to hide him from his tail. He just needed to get there…
“Aahg!” He yelped as his boot caught on a root and sent him tumbling into the underbrush. He tried to scramble to his feet, but the thorny foliage that seemed to cover every part of this blasted woodland hooked into the leather and refused to release him.
After fruitlessly tugging for several desperate minutes, the exuberant howls of the hunting dogs so thrilled to kill him became too close for comfort. He pulled his foot from the shoe and continued his frenzied flight. Rocks dug into his mostly bare foot (he had a stocking on but it had so many holes it might as well be gone) and cause him no small amount of discomfort. But at last he breached the holds of the woods and found himself on the outskirts of the town.
He raced towards the road and caught sight of a wagon off to the side. Or more, he smelled the brewery and half turned around to see it off to the side. That was perfect. If he could just get to that wagon, the fumes would hide his scent and he might escape certain death. He sprinted back towards the trees, collecting still more thorns in his clothing and almost-stocking.
At the clearing, he ran around the horse and skidded to a frantic halt in front of the gypsy.
“Hide me, please! I’ll do anything!” He pantingly promised, silver eyes wide with fright. This was probably not the best thing to say to a woman he had never met before, but the soldiers were coming and forethought had never been Eirkham’s best trait. His hood had fallen back to reveal what might once have been a pleasant frock of blond hair but was currently caked with sweat and dirt an sticking up at all ends. His face was blotchy and hardly pleasant looking. But he put his hands together in a pleading gesture and stared at the woman with what he hoped was a pathetic enough expression to tug on her heartstrings.
Greatest Sorcerer in Eulon
...By default.