Antonia's Fall

My LARP character had a very intense death at the August 2015 event- the definite winner for craziest LARP character death I've had

It was a warm, overcast August morning. Several guests of the local noble, Lord Lockhart, were gathered outside the Lockhart Manorhouse. All of them stared transfixed towards the rear of the stone edifice, faces ranging from confusion to fear to fascinated horror.

The reason for the crowd’s preoccupation soon became obvious when a thin girl in her mid-to-late teens came hurtling around the manor house as fast as her long black velvet skirt would allow her. She glanced briefly over her shoulder to see if her pursuer was still there. He was. Tatha, who had also been the one to pull her away and started running with her when the armored creature with the oddly skeletal head and the symbol of Valkor, the god of honor had inexplicably drawn his greatsword and lunged at her, followed in between. She was two yards behind Antonia and barely over four yards ahead of the creature. No, Tatha was three yards ahead. That… thing... was gaining on them. Terrified, the youth pumped her arms harder. Now her breath was coming in quick gasps. Gods, why did I have to wear a skirt today? It was getting in the way of her strides.

Seconds later, the attacker was within a greatsword’s reach of Tatha but it paid the half-elf no mind. All its attention remained fixated upon his intended target- Antonia herself. At one point, the half-elf paused as though she were considering forcing the creature to fight her instead of the unarmed younger girl. Then Tatha seemed to remember that she was barely over 100 pounds, almost a foot shorter and armed with just a dagger.

Now she’d completely sprinted around the manor house. Her legs felt like overcooked noodles. Tatha had slowed to a walk, panting. The creature passed the half-elf without a second glance.

Desperately, the youth hurtled through the confused-looking crowd of townspeople that had gathered near Lockhart Manor. Among them were members of the Sylverfern Town Guard. Surely they would move to stop that armored thing with the skeletal head, right? She started weaving through them. Not one of them moved. Weren’t they going to help her? Why weren’t they doing anything? She wanted to say something but her breath was too heavy.

She moved to make a break towards the open field but found herself blocked. Rather than yell at the one to move out of the way, she changed direction again, costing even more distance and made a dash at the manor house. Perhaps she’d go partially around and try to hide in the woods or something.

Damnit! Now a bench was blocking her, though at least she hadn’t tripped over it… The girl had just shifted her trajectory sideways a few inches when she a sharp, burning pain towards the outside of her left calf muscle dropped her to the ground with a gasp of pain. Unable to rise completely, Antonia scrambled partway up, reaching for her dagger. Then it happened. The last thing she saw clearly over her left shoulder was the greatsword arcing down toward just where her shoulderblade ended at high velocity.

There was a fleeting look of shock and disbelief in the girl’s blue-grey eyes. The color drained instantaneously from the adolescent’s face, a thick stream of blood issuing from the corner of her mouth. Her arms reflexively flew out as she collapsed forward, striking the ground hard. Torrents of bright red blood from where her torso had been cut straight through and the steady stream from her leg wound converged rapidly swelling pool around her motionless form.

The instant Antonia hit the ground, one of the village healers rushed forward and crouched beside her, the ends of his long jacket contacting the thick puddle of blood. Resting one hand up on her right shoulder and one on the back of her slackened legs, he urgently muttered every healing spell he could think of but to no avail. It was already too late. The young girl had drawn her last. "She's dead," he said bitterly.

The very creature who had attacked her froze and dropped his greatsword, shaking his head forlornly while staring down at the lifeless form with horror. The wheyfaced half-elf, who'd been near enough to be sprayed by some of the spilled blood, crouched by her side, glaring at everyone else. The rest of the crowd closed in, stopping about a foot from where the crimson puddle ended.

"I'm... Extremely sorry..." said the creature, looking as shocked as someone who had broken free of a trance. "She's so young... Much too young..." A heavy sigh escaped his lips. "If I could trade my soul for hers... I would..."

Author's Note

Luckily, this wasn't her final death! The reason she died is still an issue for her though xD Also, my posting random LARP stuff is me trying to scrape off rust so I can get muse back for my WIPs related to my fantasyland that includes Cancalia and Dremeadow.