#this may or may not be based on my. poor experience w xanders map. fuck the bowbreakers

[jasperlion]

NO!!! not smol alm, he's too young

Death in the battlefields | No longer Accepting (taking my time w these)

The stench of death follows the deeper they delve, a mission they undertake to gather information on Hel and what makes her tick. It’s dangerous, they could end up with nothing, yet they go anyway.

However, there’s no way for two ‘reds’ to go, and thus Alm sees himself obligated to take the bow in hand and the team, assembled, takes to the depths of the realm of the dead. It’s on the start of the third day (or so he believes, it is hard to keep track in the underworld) that they are beset upon by waves of fiends.

“It must mean we’re getting closer to something.” He had told them all at the start with a swelling hope that this would be of aid, and were he able to hold onto that optimism he would.

…

Yet they didn’t relent, no matter how many were defeated by powerful claws, beaks and jaws, nor the flurry of arrows from his bow. Felled foes rose again, and even more and more poured from everywhere possible. It was…

It was like a nightmare.

Notch. Aim. Loose. The more he pulls his arm back to end another foe the more he tires, and he can see it too with his companions, growing more and more weary the more their enemies arrive. And so a fear grips Alm’s heart.

‘Don’t die in her realm.’ They had been told, ‘You might not come back.’

It is as he shoots down another fiend, only for more to arise in its place, that Alm finally sees what they are protecting. “It’s the box in the altar!” He calls out to his companions, shooting down another foe to try and clear the path. “That’s what they’re protecting!”

Like a whip, Tibarn darts down from the heavens with claws extended, a fierce cry spreading through the battlefield. Nailah darts forth after, with a snarl jumping at a mage that tried to snipe the great Hawk King and tearing them apart with her jaws. With a pivot, they dart back, price within Tibarn’s claws and a triumphant air around them.*

The unspoken signal seems to reach the rest of the team and, together, they hurry on out. It’s time to escape, to make it out — they have their prize, and it should not cost any lives if they can help it.

And, of course, the enemy gives chase. Spells are cast against the Hawk King, arrows thrown, and while Nailah intercepts those whom his arrows did not catch, it is something else that soon catches Alm’s attention. 

An undead warrior, a beast, emerges from the earth like the rest, crackling blue tome on hand and aim clearly directed to the skies. ‘Protect Tibarn,’ his mind screamed ‘he can’t take that hit and live.’ With a dash and a skid, Alm tries to intercept as the Wolf Queen deals with others whom would dare along with Ranulf, aim true and sharp with his shot, interrupting the mage before they can cast.

And while he strikes, the mage’s tome glints, and Alm finds himself frozen in place, unable to draw one more arrow. It is with horror that he realizes what the mage has done, what he can do, and the next thing he knows all around him is white, and he crashes onto the ground in a tangled heap with a soft cry.

There’s a white noise in his ears, like he can barely hear the world outside of his raspy breath and erratic heartbeats. A faint snarl and sickening crunch sounds out, barely, but it’s the jostle of his body that snaps him back into the present in full.

... Best as he can be. “Alm! Hold on, damn it!” All he can do is let out a painful hiss as he tries, and fails, to force his eyes to see, blinking and breathing even if it felt like he choked with every one he took. “A blasted box isn’t worth this—” 

The white noise is so annoying, his sightlesness more so, and as he struggles to breathe, he coughs. It feels wet, raw, and the coppery taste in his mouth was like… like… “Tibarn…” He wheezes with a weakening death rattle. “You have to… or it’ll be… for nothing…” 

“Don’t talk like that. Come. I will get you help.” Yet all he can feel is feathers and warmth and all he can feel is a distant cry at the world he had to return to— at the people he needed to see once more. Every breath he takes drags him further away, further into a coaxing siren call that he knows he shouldn’t answer.

… He can’t resist, no matter how much he fights. It drags him down, down… and his heart, which beat oh so loudly that even he could hear, slowly and erratically… 

… 

… 

By the time Tibarn returns to Askr, what he carries upon his back is a corpse.

-- [ *extra: tibarn dies instead ]--

With a dive to the earth below, the Hawk deposits the box onto his arms before taking back to the skies. Alm tucks the item under his right, grasping his bow with his left. “Alright, let’s go!” It’s a race to the exit, and none of them intend to lose.

Of course it’s while his hands are full that the long range attacks suddenly turn on him. The first few are easy to avoid as the team breaks off to handle the rest, all Alm has to do is stay within the safety of his companions, and it would be alright, right?

They don’t expect to be flanked from the left.

Arrows sting at his skin with a barely performed dodge, sidesteping and rolling, then backpedaling twice to avoid a bolt of lightnng. Relentless as the foe is, they are soon finished off by the powerful Laguz around him, and hope once again sings in his heart.

Hope that is cut short in a flurry of feathers, a force that shoves him onto the ground, and a screech of pain that rips at his ears and sunders his heart. It happened so fast— “Tibarn—!”

Wings cover his vision, talons press him onto the earth, yet the liquid that drips and druips tells him all he needs to know as the Hawk King uses his body as a shield, protecting him from harm. 

And then, it’s over, and the great being falls off from atop him and onto the ground, heavy breaths the only tell he’s even still alive. “Hey, hang on!” Alm scrambles to his feet, bow grasped and at the ready, hurrying to Tibarn’s side. The damage is done, and even knowing that doesn’t stop him from looking around, ensuring it’s safe, and trying, so desperately, to cover the more gaping wounds with his hands. “Come on, Tibarn, we-… we both have to make it home.”

The tears in his eyes don’t stop him from bearing witness to the small shake of the Hawks’s head as he coughs and wheezes, trying to speak. “Alm… you have to return… safely. You have to… watch over Reyson and… Leanne… for me. Understand?” In a gentle light before him lays not a giant hawk but the more human form of his friend, no less damaged and hurt than the previous. Weakly (how strange, to associate that with Tibarn), his hand rises, grasping at Alm’s shoulders.

“Promise me…”

Tibarn does not live to see his tearful nod. Does not live to know his corpse was carried all the way back to Askr. 

He will never know how much Alm blamed himself.