Escape from Ironheart (IC)

[OverWilliam]

~Tare

While the crossbow itself did not fully penetrate his leg or his conscious mind, the second offense, the twisting blasted Tare back to alertness. It also instantly sparked an explosion of rage. Rage at what they had done to him. Rage at what they had done to Garm, Rage at how indifferent they were. There was even rage there that didn't have a specific reason. All of that anger flashed into the muscles in his chest, and he slammed forward as hard as every drop of pain, anger, fear, and willpower in his entire body would allow. The muscles in his chest cramped immediately, but he forced them on. Needles, his hand still on the bolt in Tare's leg, only had time to let his head drop to notice that Tare had begun to move before his forehead, powered by the last 48 hours of torture, crushed into the yielding flesh just under Needles' nose. The guard's head was snapped back upward and Tare's now bleeding battering ram continued on until it almost touched one of his legs. But the vengeful thief was not finished.

The gloved, manacled together hands that had been on the side of his body away from Needles was now, with Tare bent almost in half, pointed toward him. On impulse and without former planning, those hands shot forward blind towards his tormentor and latched onto the first thing they came in contact with, belt, chain mail, tunic, anything. The muscles in Tare's hands went into overdrive and pincered through the stiff leather with as much power as he could muster. Had Needles been given even a single second more, he might have reacted. Had he not been reeling from the blow to the face, such a desperate gamble would certainly have failed. As it was, Tare had a chance. He threw the rest of his body weight back down, pivoting against his arms, and hauling as heavily as he could against the handhold he had found. There was something that Needles had forgotten when he had stood so close to the upside down and obviously 'helpless' prisoner. Beneath Needles' boots, a not-so-thin layer of vomit slicked the worn, stone floor.

((OOC: I hope to cause him to slip, and then hold whatever I have grabbed onto long enough to cause his head to hit the ground first, taking the full brunt of his fall and Tare's force. With a little luck, this will split his skull or break his neck or both.))