Midnight, the Bleeding Hour
Lvatia Valley
Full Moon, a pure black sky, the day chased off by the prospect of the hunter’s delight. Dropping lightly over the edge of a valley, to land upon a soft mound of snow, J’karn’s hunger was upon him, and the only thing that might sate it, would be to feed off those lesser beings stupid enough to be travelling after dark. Running his tongue across the tips of his sharpened incisors, the anticipation of their taste was already with him, the lust for the flesh would end only with the spilling of its vessel’s life energy.
Vaulting another fallen tree, he landed at a bracing crouch, skidding a short distance along some ice, before taking off at a light run. He had noticed a small smoke trail ahead, from a dying camp fire, obvious perhaps but still a clue to investigate.
Over his normal clothes, J'karn was Adorned in black scale mail, the heirloom of his disgraced father, and extending his body outward, displayed proud wings feeling the air surging by them, surely revealing him for who he was. The dark skinned, hooded Zith, wore a large steel shield across his back, and carried a warhammer in both hands across his chest. Always the hunter, he glided like the predator he was, though not adapt at stealth by any means the Zith was enjoying feeling alive, growing closer and closer to the pair camping in the wilderness, he noted their horses tied to a nearby tree. Only slowing these hasty steps as he caught sight of a nearby tent, within which his food carelessly rested, no doubt warm and delicious in their own hunted furs.
The cycle of life, they hunted to be strong, so he might hunt them to be strong.
A kindling flame, the signs of civilization fighting against the icy temperatures of winter, warmth was all the better for that which fed the empty belly of the hunter. Keeping low to the ground, there were no sounds from the small camp, crouching instinctively rather than out of practice, he slowed to look for any signs of challengers or other predators prowling. Slowly J'karns wings betrayed his minds intent, following the shape of his instincts, straight, alert and ready to pounce.
What might the meat taste like? Dropping his backpack aside he took out a few choice items: Clipping a barbed net to his hip, tucking a vial of acid in a pocket, and some of his lockpicks in another, in his mind a red mist descended. J'karn worked quickly for all the novice could think of was the kill. The Zith had some novice skill at hunting, having killed more than once in the wilds, but each and every time it was more delicious than the first. It was hard to contain the need to ravage the camp there and then.
Was there a code to the kill? His recent curiosity on what it meant to be a predator, such as the namesake given to him by a victim, was also in the back of his mind.
Time to begin and find out...
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