[Training: Hunting] For Siku's Sake (Ash, Siiri)

[Ashivirsthargon]

50th Day of Winter, 509 AV

The rains pattered down in the upper regions of the jungle, creating a noise like a constant spilling of beads onto a stone floor. In some places, the canopy was thick enough that only running rivulets and stray drops would fall to the ground. In many places, it was a wide, constant pour.

Sthargon loved the rain. It concealed the noise of his movements, dampened his scent, and provided such wonderful moisture - like balm to stiff muscles as the stuff fell glistening over both skin and scale. Today, however, his spirits went unmitigated by the pleasant weather. Even the sunset failed to move him as the failing light splintered in the cascading veil of rain.

Truth be told, he'd rather have been doing something else. He was still irritated at being sent out to cover what was primarily a logistical oversight with the priestesses. Furthermore, the priestess who sent him had managed to get under his skin a bit. He hacked his way through some low undergrowth with a bit more spice than he normally might have done, remembering their conversation.

To make matters worse, hunting animals was not really his area of expertise. The killing part usually went all right, but the parts leading up to that were a science he had yet to learn. His tracking ability boiled down to "wander until you find something to kill," and his trapping ability was similarly minimal - "try not to let it run away." He hoped Siku would show him favor this evening with readily available prey. As well She ought - it was for Her ritual, after all.

He was far enough from Zinrah, now. Putting his scimitar away, he began to move through the brush with as much silence as he could muster.

[Siiri]

They traveled through the jungle like phantoms, their passing unheard in the deafening cacophony of the torrential downpour. They left no marks on the soft muddy earth for they used the intertwined branches of the densely packed trees, an elevated highway of wood and vines. Five they were, half a fang, though there were sure to be many more nearby, Myrian warriors hidden among the leaves. At an initial glance, an observer would not be able to tell them apart from the background, so adept were they at blending in with their environment. But whenever the wind howled they burst into motion, a ploy to further mask any noise they made from the denizens of the very dangerous jungle.

The group moved as one, each aware of the others' movement and location. Leaping from branch to branch, they clung and swung to and from the trees’ limbs utilizing hands and legs, their grips firm and their footing sure. They were operating outside the protection of the sentries posted around Zinrah, so stealth and secrecy were of utmost importance. All were warriors and none among them were a coward but this was a scouting mission, nothing more; they knew they did not have the manpower for a direct engagement against the enemy in so dangerous a territory. Thus they were alarmed when a sudden noise broke the monotonous pitter-patter of the falling rain.

It had come from the nearby foliage, and it sounded as though someone was slashing through the thick vegetation. Their leader raised a fist, a predetermined signal, and they scattered, each using whatever was at hand to mask their presence. One among them uttered a cry like that of a bullfrog. When no answering cry came from where the noise came from, they knew that the one who made it was not among their people. In their hiding places among the tree branches, they watched in trepidation for who ever it was to emerge.

Except for one.

Concealed among the boughs of a thick-trunked tree, Siiri stared at the underbrush with an eager gleam in her eyes, one hand unconsciously fingering the hilt of one of the daggers strapped on her hips.

[Ashivirsthargon]

Sthargon was crouched very low to the ground. The various ferns, mosses, and other growths that carpeted the jungle floor grazed his chest as he crept forward. The placement of his hands guided his course, and the muscles in his serpentine body rippled and contracted, pressing him forward in as linear a fashion as the terrain allowed. He contemplated simply shifting into full snake form, but he had a suspicion that the ability to move in a burst of speed or use actual hands might be more useful.

Still, stealth was the order of the day. He knew his best chance was to stumble across an animal that normally hunted or foraged at night. They would be sleeping, now, although that window would be rapidly closing. He hoped the comforting patter of rain would keep his prey sleeping a bit longer.

But his stealth had another purpose. Although he was still near Zinrah, he was well outside its actual borders and technically in violation of the accord struck with Myri. If a Myrian patrol ran across him, it would only be discretion that would keep them from killing him on sight. He was near enough to the city that the sounds of battle might bring reinforcements running, but some Myrians gambled this way, and some did not. Even if some of his own contacts were in the group, they would surely not turn against their fellows unless the outcome was clearly in their favor - a fact he could appreciate.

With his upper body hovering over the ground as it was, he was able to move quietly, albeit not entirely quickly, and he wove around tree and bush and tangle until fortune smiled upon him. There, sleeping in a hastily rooted-out burrow near a large tree, slept a boar. Judging by the size of its body and tusks, it was young, yet, but it would suffice. Who knew when he might come across such prey, again?

He had never captured a boar, before, but the tusks looked troublesome - all the moreso because he had to take it, alive. The ever-present veil of the rain would be his ally, this evening, and he carefully crept closer to the boar, planning his strike.

[Siiri]

Siiri's eyes narrowed as the intruder revealed itself – a Dhani! Its grey-green scales glistening in the rain, the creature was in its half-human, half-snake form, and what a monstrous specimen it was: from the waist up, its bald human half fairly rippled with muscles while its serpentine lower half seemed thick and powerful enough to crush a Myrian warrior into a pulp. From her hiding place, Siiri could see that it was male, and was making a poor attempt at stealth as it slithered in the underbrush. It was too late for that now, however. The initial ruckus it caused earlier had given away its position to the small Myrian band.

Siiri drew one of her daggers, a foot long blade with a serrated edge made from dense bone. The Dhani appeared to be zeroing in on the tree where she was hiding. This was good; she would get first blood when they attacked. Slowly, she turned her head towards the adjacent tree, scanning the thick mass of leaves for Eena, their fang's leader.

There!

The other woman was perched on a thick tree limb, her posture and position making her seem as much a part of the tree as its branches. She was already staring at Siiri, and more importantly, at her bared blade. She gave a slight shake of the head, then pointed two fingers at her eyes then a finger at the Dhani below, indicating that they should observe the creature for now.

Siiri frowned and raised her dagger, emphasizing that they should attack now. She received another shake of the head in reply. The young woman from the Snapping Jaws clan cursed under her breath, muttering obscenities at Eena. They could easily swoop down and kill the snake-thing before it even knew what hit it, but their fearless leader just had to stick had to the mission parameters to the letter! Siiri clenched her jaw, irritated. Without doubt, she knew the others have also seen Eena's gesture and would not go against direct orders and assist her if she decided to jump the Dhani.

Frustrated, Siiri sheathed her dagger and settled down to watch what the creature came to do.

[Ashivirsthargon]

He could not kill the boar.

It seemed like an odd thing - so obvious, really, but it had not seriously occurred to him until right now. The boar was for a sacrifice. He could not kill it. He could not cut its throat, pierce its heart, or squeeze it to death.

Quite a puzzle, really, and the warrior-errant found himself scratching his eyebrow ridge with the hilt of his drawn scimitar as he contemplated his options. It struck Sthargon that he had never gone hunting without the intent to kill his target. Lazula's proposal had seemed relatively easy, but suddenly, it took on a new level of complexity.

He stared dumbly at the wild pig. Rain covered him and dribbled off the angles of his Dhani face. The scimitar hovered at his side without purpose or intent. The boar slumbered on - blissfully unaware that an intruder was so clumsily working his way through the boar's life and death.

The situation was like a knot that Sthargon could not untie, and indeed, that was the image that began to preoccupy him - a large, convoluted knot with no discernible way to begin untangling it.

He did know one way to untie a knot, however. His teacher had once said: the better you become at violence, the fewer are the problems you cannot solve with it.

The scimitar lashed out, low and laterally, severing the boar's foreleg. The beast erupted in an explosion of rage and pain, but it could not charge. It struggled along, furiously, in a vain attempt to rip Sthargon's guts out.

Sthargon threw his arms around the animal and regretted it almost instantly. The tusks gored gouges and scratches across his chest. The rains mingled Dhani and boar blood on their skin and in the soil of the jungle. He squeezed tighter, trying to keep the animal from having room to swing its head.

It was an imprecise measure at best. Though Sthargon could carry the boar, he could not keep the enraged animal from wriggling free enough to gore him, again, as he slid back to Zinrah. Each bit of his journey was an exercise in pain. Most of the cuts were shallow enough, but some were true gouges. He knew he'd need to attend to these wounds as soon as he could.

Whether the boar became resigned to its fate, or whether the loss of blood had weakened it, or whether its endurance simply spent itself, the beast's thrashing eventually subsided somewhat. Its sides heaved within Sthargon's arms as Dhani and boar made their way back to the ancient ruin.

[Siiri]

That’s one way to do it, Siiri thought in disgust as she watched, with hate-filled eyes, the Dhani carry off the now two-legged boar back to his wretched city. Because she was directly above him, she did not see the snakeman actually sever the animal’s forelegs but she did witness their initial struggle. The boar had put up quite a fight but ultimately it was no match against the strength of its captor. The half-man, half-snake form vanished in the thick vegetation, its prized catch still thrashing feebly in its arms. Siiri hoped it would continue to do so until they reached Zinrah and inflict more wounds on the Dhani.

Bleed to death, snake.

As the sound of the Dhani’s retreat faded into nothingness, Siiri swung down from her hiding place. Only the sound of the pouring rain could be heard once more. The woman paced back and forth in the downpour, cracking her knuckles as she waited impatiently for her fangmates to descend from the trees. A tight knot had formed on her brow, a manifestation of her annoyance from being deprived of action against the Dhani. Eena was a fool to let that one escape. Five against one, it would have been an easy kill for them!

Siiri felt the other woman land softly behind her. She whirled on her, preparing to lash out with a tirade on missed chances. But the words died on her lips as she was met by an equally intense frown on the face of her fang leader.

“Do not even start, Siiri,” Eena hissed, cutting off whatever Siiri had to say with an upraised hand, an unnecessary gesture. “Your impulsiveness could have caused us our lives. What if that Dhani was not alone and there was one or more waiting in the underbrush? Waiting for some bull-headed Myrian warrior to show her ass? Did you ever stop to think about that when you were rearing to jump from the tree?”

Siiri worked her jaw a couple of times as if she wanted to say something but instead just shut her mouth, apparently deciding against speaking against her superior. Eena was right of course. She had been blinded by her desire to slay the Dhani.

“I know your aunt was killed by these snakes,” Eena continued, unrelenting. “But you can’t go charging off to avenge her every time you see one. I will not have you endanger your mates because of some petty notion of revenge. You won’t stay long in this world with that kind of attitude! That’s why you still do not have your own command! Until you learn to curb your temper, you never will!”

Siiri’s cheeks and ears burned from the chastisement. She could feel the eyes of the other three warriors on her as she took their fang leader’s dressing down stoically. The woman delivered her lecture in a whisper but Siiri was sure the others heard every word.

“From now on, I don’t want you doing anything without my explicit say so. Especially in situations like this! Now keep your mouth shut and get in line with the others. We’re moving out!” Eena finally raised her voice a notch as she issued the last order. She gave one last meaningful look at Siiri before jumping up a tree branch.

Once more, one among their numbers issued a cry, a shrill, undulating sound that pierced through the heavy rain, alerting any other Myrian within earshot of their presence, that they were passing through the region and should not be hindered. Then they turned to follow Eena. As Siiri moved to join them, she glanced once more at the direction where the Dhani had disappeared to earlier. She remembered the creature’s green-gray scales and the unique pattern on its back. Despite everything Eena had just said to her, Siiri vowed that next time she ran across that particular Dhani, she would attack it – and kill it! – without hesitation. Even if Eena was there to order her to do otherwise.

Any snake, Dhani or not, deserved no less.

[Ashivirsthargon]

Blood, thinned by the rain, was streaming down his chest in a myriad of red rivulets by the time Sthargon finally reached the nearest entrance tunnel to Zinrah. He had successfully brought back a live - albeit horribly maimed - sacrificial animal, but the venture had been anything but a picture of success.

He'd been noisy. He'd been awkward. Above all, he'd been lucky. Without that, he probably would never have caught anything. Clearly, if this was an errand he was going to be sent on with any degree of frequency, he needed to learn what he was doing. He needed to know how to track, how to trap, and how to kill. It would only serve him well in his other duties.

This raised a question, however. Knowing he was no real hunter, why had Lazula even bothered to send him on such a task? He could tell she had been irritated when he mentioned her runt. Was she trying to punish him? Was she even trying to kill him? He might have easily run across a Myrian patrol on his outing, and it was once again only that dumb luck that he had not. He'd certainly been noisy enough.

Or was this truly just a logistical oversight that needed correcting, and he merely happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time?

It would do no good to dwell on these speculations, but when it came to paranoia, Sthargon's sense of it had an uncanny accuracy. Checking to make sure the area was clear, he took his quarry into the stone womb of Zinrah.

[Cayenne]

Two mortal enemies in the making, centuries of tension... very, very interesting situation developing to watch play out. Excellent characterization here, both of you - very realistic, very believable. Very well-played! It's David vs. Goliath... but who is holding the slingshot? I hereby award the following: Ashivirsthargon: Weaponry: Scimitar: 2 XP Hunting: 2 XP Stealth: 1 XP Siiri: Scouting: 1 XP Stealth: 1 XP Weaponry: Thrown Daggers: 1 XP Tactics: 1 XP