Porthos
I whistled as I walked along the street, enjoying the feel of the snow under my feet. I thought to myself how beautiful and quiet Paris is at night, the street shining as the snow reflects the moon's silvery light. It made me wonder how so much poverty; death and disease can thrive in such a wonderful place. I shook my head, living in the court, always running or hiding, I never got the chance to take my time to look around me and see the beauty and serenity of Paris at night.
Suddenly I felt my body tense, my childhood instincts coming back to me. As I turned the corner, I saw an apparently abandoned cart with two horses attached blocking my path. I felt my hand slowing moving towards my sword and dagger that are hanging at my waist. As I slowly edge my way forward, I scanned my surroundings; I notice shadows shifting in some of the alleyways connecting to the street. Then out the alley closest to me a man, face covered by a hood, ran at me, sword waving.
Quickly I throw my dagger and watch as it imbedded itself in his chest. Next I turned to face another who was attempting to get at me from behind. I swung my blade and quickly dispatched him. Suddenly men, all masked, are pouring out from the other alleys and rushing towards me. I pulled out my musket and watched as another falls while I ducked to avoid a blade that swung through the air where my head had been a second before. I sliced quickly at my assailant's legs but don't stop to watch him fall as I roll away and tackled another to the ground, knocking him unconscious.
Jumping quickly to my feet I block another blade before kicking the attacker hard in the stomach, knocking the breath from him. I could feel the adrenaline running through me like a raging fire but at the same time I felt exhaustion creeping into my bones as I blocked and parried again and again. There seemed to be an endless flow of attackers, I would cut one down and another would rise to take its place. I had lost my sword a while go and was now resorting to my favourite kind of combat. Hand-to-hand.
I felt the satisfying crunch of bone as I broke the sword arm of one of my attacks. Watching him flee, cradling his arm, I felt my breath heavy and laboured. I could feel thick blood oozing from a cut on my arm where I had not dodged quick enough and knew that sooner or later exhaustion was going to get the better of me. Suddenly a net was thrown over me and I found myself being dragged to the ground. I let out a roar of anger and hatred as I struggled to free myself from the mesh that was now holding me but the more I struggled the tighter and more tangled I began to find myself. I could feel my heart racing and the all-consuming feeling of entrapment came over me, I felt like an animal knowing that there was no escape.
'Porthos!' I heard Aramis' cry and looked around to try and see my friend. 'Aramis!' I cried with all the strength I had left hoping that my friend would make it in time. I could feel myself being dragged towards the cart and knew that I had to try and slow them down, buy time for Aramis to get to me. I struggle with all my might, putting all my weight away from the direction they are trying to take me. It worked slightly as the men struggle to keep a grip on the piece of net they are holding. 'Porthos!' I turn just in time to see my friend round the corner. Then everything went black.
Aramis
As soon I heard the shot I knew something was wrong. I began running towards where it had come from. Where Porthos had gone. In my head I kept seeing pictures of my brother lying in the street, his red blood staining the snow beneath him. I shook my head, Porthos is strong, he will be all right, he must be all right. I called my brothers name, shouted it into the night, not caring about the funny looks I gained from the people around me.
When I heard his answering call I was relieved. He was alive but there was something in his voice, some kind pain, some kind of fear, hearing gave me the burst of speed I needed. When I rounded the corner I picture I saw filled me with rage. The street was strewn with body's some bleeding, others with broken necks, the work of my brother. For some reason that made me feel quite warm inside. But then I saw him, my brother in everything but blood, trussed up in a net like an animal. His eyes met mine briefly and they held such fear and desperation that I felt as though my heart would break. Then it was gone as one of the men holding him hit him over the head, knocking him out cold.
I felt rage boiling inside of me like a great fire ablaze. How dare they treat his brother like this? Who do they think they are, that they think they can get away with attacking a Kings Musketeer with any consequences? Letting out a growl I drew my sword from my sheathe and ran towards my brothers assailants ready to gut every last one of them and watch as their blood paints the street red. Two of the men saw me and leapt off the cart to face me, swords drawn. I quickly and gracefully dispatched them both before turning my attention back to my brother.
Suddenly a shot rang out and a pain in my right leg made me fall to the ground. I looked up to see one of the men still pointing his smoking musket at me. I tried to pull myself up using my sword but when I stepped forward the pain caused my leg to give way and I dropped to the ground. Already I felt dizziness and exhaustion coming over due to the amount of blood now pouring from my leg. No matter how hard I tried I could not raise myself. I lay there in anguish as the masked men drag my brother's unconscious bulk onto the cart and helplessly watched the cart slowly draw away. I felt my eyes closing and the last thing I remembered was the look in Porthos' eyes before everything went dark.