The last brute on Maleki came in fast, trying to catch Maleki unprepared for the massive maul that was coming down for him. Instead all he did was make it easier for Maleki to handle him. Maleki moved ever so slightly to the side and pivoted as the maul came screaming down towards where his head once was. Out of the way and on the brute’s non-dominant side -made obvious by the positioning of his hands on the hilt- and struck his elbow with an open palm. Immediately the arm went numb and the brute instinctively released that hand from the maul, opening up his chest. In the Royal style, a slice against his other arm was in order. In Maleki’s style, it was a much worse alternative.<br/><br/>Maleki stepped into the opening made by his moved arm and plunged his blade to the hilt into the brute’s abdomen. Before the shock of the sudden strike could leave the brute, Maleki twisted the blade a hundred eighty degrees and pulled up, carving up until the blade hit the sternum and was ejected from his body. He was a dead man walking now, as his hands moved to collect what was beginning to spill out of him. With a moment to breathe finally, Maleki surveyed the battlefield. One of the brutes was heading for the back of the final cart, while another was trying his best to end the young guard assigned to the back. But before much more could be done, a thud could be heard, followed by a moment of burning pain. An arrow had been plunged into his side and the adrenaline was put into overdrive. Maleki had been hit before he knew there was only so much his own body could do to let him ignore the wound, so he acted.<br/><br/>In a dead sprint, Maleki came up behind the final brute and leaped up, planting his dagger into the soft flesh and muscle around the clavicle of the brute and held on. A wild ride ensued as the brute attempted to dislodge the former lord from his back. The struggling slowed to a crawl and Maleki was content to ride it out until a strike finally dislodged him. Another arrow, this one finding purchase a few inches left of his right armpit. Immediately, Maleki released his blade and fell to his feet, stumbling to keep them underneath him as the brute trudged forward and fell, Maleki’s unique blade still in his shoulder. Maleki stayed where he was. There was nothing he could do to prevent another strike. His strength was already leaving him, and he was oddly positioned away from any cover. And then a twang followed by another thump could be heard… and Maleki was alive. At his feet, the arrow intended for him laid in the dust and blood-made mud. Tom, Maleki thought his name was, had managed to survive and do his part.<br/><br/>At that moment, Maleki’s legs almost gave out under him. He stumbled forward, right onto Tommen. Maleki used him to steady himself, his own blood pumping loud in his ears, too loud to hear what Tommen was saying. A weak slap of his hand onto the archer’s shoulder silenced the incoherent questions.<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#4da6ff">“Enough. Get me to the wagon,”</span>Maleki said. With Tommen’s help, Maleki was brought to the back of the wagon, where Maleki was placed on the edge. Using what little strength he still had, he reached into the back and pulled an open case towards him. It was what would help him stay upright, dull the pain, and prepare himself for treatment: grain alcohol. Fumbling one bottle out, Maleki tore the cork out with his mouth and bit down hard on it. The bottle was momentarily set aside as Maleki ripped his clothes further around the wounds with his currently good arm before picking up the bottle once more. The fire of his wounds ignited with a fervor as the contents were emptied onto his shoulder and side, half of the large bottle spent solely to coat the egregious wounds, hopefully disinfecting them. Then came the next part.<br/><br/>The half bitten in half cork was spit onto the ground -a bit of blood going with it- and the mouth of the bottle was brought to his lips. It was not a fine alcohol, made for strength and to be properly made into booze upon purchase. But it was good enough for consumption. And consume Maleki did. Until his weakened lungs protested, he drank. Less than a fourth remained in the bottle by the time he could properly hear people approaching. The alcohol had calmed the blood in his ears and focused his sight a bit past the burning pain. And what they locked on to was Aleksandra.<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#4da6ff">“I am not so proud that I would die while something can be done,” </span>Maleki spat at her, his pain applying even more venom to his words than normal. “<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#4da6ff">But I am starting to think that the Flats would have been a better option than staying even remotely near you.”</span>