Things had been calm so far. Sure, Amos had been expecting an escalation at some point, but they weren't there yet unless the Pleroma had been willing to tip their hand early. He'd been taking advantage of it — the chance to go back out into Godsblood where he knows Pleroma live, hunt them down, bring them back with him; the ease of the night before, getting a good sleep in so he'd be able to keep himself fresh and ready to go for whenever what happened happened.
Really, he thought he'd get another day or two of this. Head out into Godsblood because they can spare the manpower. Come back in time for another shift guarding the prison. Rinse, repeat, be ready to go.
And then he hears the yelling, sharper and more aggressive than a typical argument. He'd just been on his way back when he'd cocked an ear for it, trying to discern by sound alone how urgent this is, whether he needs to get himself involved or what.
But he knows what a death cry sounds like, so he goes charging in, and right fucking there is a Pleroma, with a blood-stained sword and a dead body — dead Achamite — crumpling in front of him. He barely even registers that it's Rand — not like it matters who it is — as he speeds up, teeth bared, the sound of his heavy footfalls probably the only warning he gets before Amos is looking to crash into him from his side without the sword, tackle him to the ground, fist cocked back and aiming right for his head all the while. ]
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Things had been calm so far. Sure, Amos had been expecting an escalation at some point, but they weren't there yet unless the Pleroma had been willing to tip their hand early. He'd been taking advantage of it — the chance to go back out into Godsblood where he knows Pleroma live, hunt them down, bring them back with him; the ease of the night before, getting a good sleep in so he'd be able to keep himself fresh and ready to go for whenever what happened happened.
Really, he thought he'd get another day or two of this. Head out into Godsblood because they can spare the manpower. Come back in time for another shift guarding the prison. Rinse, repeat, be ready to go.
And then he hears the yelling, sharper and more aggressive than a typical argument. He'd just been on his way back when he'd cocked an ear for it, trying to discern by sound alone how urgent this is, whether he needs to get himself involved or what.
But he knows what a death cry sounds like, so he goes charging in, and right fucking there is a Pleroma, with a blood-stained sword and a dead body — dead Achamite — crumpling in front of him. He barely even registers that it's Rand — not like it matters who it is — as he speeds up, teeth bared, the sound of his heavy footfalls probably the only warning he gets before Amos is looking to crash into him from his side without the sword, tackle him to the ground, fist cocked back and aiming right for his head all the while. ]