legends never die {atlas v. roger || day 6}

"Promise?"

His hammer falls, yet Roger still lives.

[attr="id","rSpeech"]"I'll take your pity now," he says, not answering the question. Four fingers clutch his glaive like it is his last earthly tether. (It is.)

"Promise?"

The word itches at the front of his skull, right beneath that first strike that tore open his forehead.

The wound and the word sit in good company. Four lines criss-cross his face. He names one ​Truus​ for the girl whose misaim in training tagged him before he got here, one ​hellhound​ for the first beast to bite him, claiming his thumb as the first trophy of many that Roger has left for his enemies. One is named ​Achilles​ and though the scab is fresh - from yesterday​, somehow - it feels as if it's lived between his jaw and eyesocket for years.

"Promise?"

He'd sooner forget - forget him, forget them, forget all of this - but he knows that he can't.

"Promise?"

Even if he could stand, Roger can't carry another person on his back. The weight draped around his neck is already more than he can bear.

[attr="id","rSpeech"]"Go in peace, Atlas White."

He swings.


[attr="id","rSpeech"][roger attacks atlas, dragonfire glazed spike glaive]
30DiLsW|glaive
[attr="id","rSpeech"][13043 -- Shallow Cut on Back -- 4.0 damage]