Storms and Trials (Savra)

[Hirem]

And now, he finally realized why he was such a coward when facing other people in confrontations; he was terrified by himself. As he launched himself at Savra, swinging her blade ruthlessly and rage exploding all over his body, the sane, reasonable part of his mind was disgusted by himself. More than that though, he watched himself in horror, shocked at the brutality that was coursing through Hirem.

The Benshiran was swinging a bloodstained gladius at a young woman, not intending to wound or disarm, but to kill. More than that, he was resisting his own efforts to calm himself, his mind descending into the madness of bloodlust. He abstained from violence during his travels, opting to ignore or run from threats. Now he was lusting for it, craving the inevitable feel of this woman's blood on his flesh. It was sickening, a feeling that the Benshiran wanted to get rid of, and yet could never do so.

Hirem hoped against all hope that he had a reason for this bloodlust. He had been keeping his anger under wraps for a long time, now, with the death of Netanel to sustain it, it was all rushing forth in a furious wave that overwhelming his thoughts. That might have worked if he had been completely sure of himself at the moment, but current events made it impossible to consider this as the catalyst for his rage. No, it was something more instinctive, more primal than simple anger management issues. Frankly, whatever caused this was something that Hirem was positively terrified of.

Savra attempted to cut him down during breaks in his assault, but none of it was enough to bring the stocky wanderer down. She would slash at his arms, he would charge her and too close for her to hit, knocking her away with his meaty shoulder. She would slip away to the side and attempt to drive her blade into his side, but instead he would simply deliver an intense succession of slashes and thrusts that made it impossible for her to defend herself and attack at the same time.

Some of this was a result of his own training in combat, but most of it was raw anger and gut responses. The gladius was strange in his hands, too short for his liking, but he adapted in his madness, the sword becoming an extension of his own clouded movements. Sometimes his sword wouldn't even come close to reaching Savra, and he would just attack with the sword for the sake of attacking. Injury meant nothing to him. When Savra tried to slash his legs out from under him, he dodged away in time to only be cut across the surface of the leg, then he rushed at her again.

At some point during the melee, he lost the gladius. He had no idea how it was done, but Savra had moved so quickly, her blade moving in a quick flash, that Hirem could only process the sword stuck in the ground a few moments after it happened, his hand open like he was expecting the sword to simply return to his grasp. If she expected the loss of a weapon to stop him, however, she had another thing coming. He roared out, and charged her, fists clenched and ready to wreak havoc upon her little frame. His right hand pulled back as he neared Savra, then shot out quickly to try to deliver a crushing blow to Savra's nose, intending to stun her so that he could wreak further pains upon her.

[Savra]

None of Savra’s training had prepared her to fight an opponent like the one she currently faced. His technique was nonexistent, of course, but his rage was unquenchable. She thrust and slashed, but he seemed to ignore the flicker of her blade and continued with his own onslaught. He was too wild. Less than a chime after they’d started, Savra resigned herself to a sullen defense. She studied the wanderer’s efforts to separate her head from her shoulders, measuring his quickness and range. However, this wasn’t her style of fighting – and it showed. Savra preferred to remain on the offensive. But caution did have its benefits. As Savra watched and waited, she began to discern patterns to this wanderer’s attacks. Her stop-thrusts elicited a few discrete reactions, most of which she was able to predict by his stance and leg movement. His charges and counters also seemed to have an instinctual and predictable madness. Saif had taught his pupil well, for Savra possessed all the tools to unravel the enraged wanderer’s assault. She ducked and dodged, her blade lancing out in a series of thrusts and then rising in a cross-slash. It flashed like a firefly in the darkness, first here and then where it was least expected, seeking the taste of blood. It ascended and descended, curving to the throat and neck and slicing at ankles, wrists, and hamstrings. Savra was slowly transforming into a whirlwind. Her blade began to turn its mate aside with relative ease and probed inside the wanderer’s defenses. No matter how enraged he might be, there was no denying that Savra was the more skilled with a blade. Suddenly, as the man sought to come in, Savra riposted and flicked her wrist, dislodging the blade from his hand. He seemed astonished for a moment, and then he responded in a manner that caught her off-guard. As she prepared to strike the killing blow, he bulled forward and delivered a crushing blow to her face. Savra’s vision exploded in black and red. It was like she’d been struck with a hammer. She whirled onto her side and rolled down the slope of the wadi, managing to retain hold of her blade as her head cleared. He’d addled her wits with the blow, that was certain – but she wasn’t knocked out. Grimacing, Savra rose with her sword extended, hot blood trickling from a broken nose. “Sorry, but you’ll have to do better,” she sneered. It had been a long time since she’d been in this sort of predicament, but she felt oddly refreshed – if not a little dazed. It is fortunate that I care little for beauty, Savra thought as she waited. Her nose seemed to be crooked.

[Hirem]

Hirem had been saved by his own bullheadedness, it seemed. Savra was a lithe thing, and he expected that if one hard object knocked into her at a high speed, i.e. himself, she was bound to be fazed more than she'd like to admit. Thus, he had time to rip the gladius free of the ground and arm himself once again, turning to Savra with his blade raised and guard up. He was ready to fight once again, and part of him wanted to rush the girl once again, roaring and screaming like a barbarian, but he only just managed to stop himself.

Attacking now would be suicide, he reminded himself through his dim haze of thoughts. It would be suicide, as attacking her on even ground would lead to another disarming and death, if he kept up his current strategy. He was on the high ground now, and if he was able to draw her forward, he would have the advantage. At least, that was his line of thought as he waited on the top of the wadi, watching her carefully, the rage boiling in his blood as he slowly panted, trying to wait out his exhaustions.

And then, as fast as it came, the blood rage he had been experiencing disappeared, replaced by a sudden tiring in his limbs and the outrage in his mind. If he had any chance to survive in this battle, he needed that sudden bout of fury again, though he detested it. He tried to hide the loss of his anger, but it showed in the dip in his stance and the heavy breathing he started to exert, sweating and heaving heavily as the moments passed, his heart pounding in his ears as he watched Savra. She needs to come up here, he thought. She needs to come up here, or I'll die.

Thanks to the new awareness he had to his surroundings due to the loss of his rage, he realized that he was not without wounds like her. He had cuts all over his body, and he had the crisp awareness of the thick blood oozing down his skin, the scratch of his clothes against his wounds, driving him insane from irritation. He winced slightly as he realized this, his face remaining in a pained expression as time wore on. It felt like days were passing, but it was scarcely half a chime that the two opponents spent waiting for each other on opposite levels of the wadi before Hirem realized that the stress was getting to him.

He felt like he was going to pass out, his body warming rapidly and his heart beating like a war drum inside his chest. He suddenly dropped to his knees, stabbing the gladius down into the sand and resting his hand atop the pommel for support as he lowered his head, panting from exhaustion. He raised his hand and ripped the head covering from his head, shaking his hair free of the sweat that had been collecting on his scalp. He stayed on that wadi in that position, trying to recover his strength, but knowing that Savra was going to kill him. There was no way he could hold off an attack by her in this position, and both of them knew it. His only hope was for that mindless anger to return, but that was unlikely given his current state.

[Savra]

Savra waited for the wanderer to attack, but he didn’t. He remained at the top of the wadi, sword in hand as he waited for her to come to him. It was unusual. Savra had expected him to charge down the slope to capitalize on the blow he’d struck. Had his rage fled so quickly? He seemed tired and hesitant – but not broken. If she came at him again he’d probably fight to the death. Spitting blood, Savra brought a hand to her nose. It was definitely broken. A burst of white-hot pain lanced through her skull, forcing her to grit her teeth to keep from crying out. But she persevered, taking a firm grip on her busted nose and trying to wrench it back into position. Now the pain was magnified a hundredfold. For a moment Savra’s world descended into blackness, and then she was back at the bottom of the wadi, blinking the world back into focus. More blood trickled from her still-crooked nose and dripped upon the sands. I’ve taken the Rapa from this wanderer, Savra realized, and he has taken my beauty. It was an uneven trade. While the realities of disfigurement were almost as painful as the blow that ruined her face, Savra knew she would recover from them. She couldn’t say the same about the wanderer. Of course, he wouldn’t bear the burden of grief much longer if she ascended the slope. It was tricky to fight on uneven footing, but then again, Saif had been a diligent tutor. He’d prepared Savra to fight under all conditions. And now the wanderer was kneeling, leaning on her other gladius as he gasped for breath, his body sheathed in blood. Fatigued and vulnerable. But Savra wasn’t able to fight to her full capabilities either – not with a broken nose. She breathed through her mouth, eyes still narrowed with pain, spitting every now and again to clear the blood from her throat. Should I kill him? Savra wondered. Hadn’t she taught him an important lesson? Hadn’t he proved himself a worthy opponent? Yes, she respected the wanderer despite his reluctance to accept salvation. But he would not come around in time – that much was clear. She had no doubts that he’d attempt to destroy her at whatever cost. Most warriors were quick to dispatch their foes, but Savra was different. She knew the wanderer would never forget this tragedy. He would seek to become stronger so that he might prevail on their next encounter, thus protecting Yahal’s children from the whirlwind of her justice. For her own part, Savra would train even harder, waiting for the day when she’d force the wanderer to watch as his entire world was engulfed in conflagration. As Savra’s bloody lips curled into a smile, three blurs of brownish-gray crested the wadi and streaked toward the kneeling man. They're going to tear him the shreds! Savra’s eyes widened as her wolves neared. She’d witnessed them in action before, had stared at the clumps of fur and skin, the mangled flesh and entrails scattered over the dunes, all of which culminated in the realization that her companions were as formidable as any band of warriors. And now they targeted a man whose life Savra sought to spare. “No!” she screamed. “Stop! Don’t kill him!” Qassem held up and snarled at the wanderer from a dozen paces, but Maliss wasn’t to be denied. Her lithe form sprang into the air, jaws snapping as she lunged toward her prey. He’s dead, Savra bit her lip and started to ascend the slope, but then Sultana was there to knock Maliss aside. Colliding in midair, the wolves went down in a seething mass of fur and limbs, snapping at one another like dire enemies before they disengaged. Maliss circled to one side and then another, but Sultana was there, preventing her from closing with the wanderer. Qassem continued to watch from afar, his teeth bared. “Leave this place,” Savra hissed as she sheathed her blade. “Take the Rapa if you so desire, for the wolves will eat him otherwise – but leave the sword. I will spare your life, wanderer, but only if you swear to never forget what happened here.” her eyes were as expressionless as stone. “Live, and perhaps we shall meet again one day.”

[Hirem]

The wait for Savra to kill him was an infuriating test in patience and strength, but not to muster enough energy to attack her. It was hard even staying concious, weakness rolling over him in the absence of his blind fury. Every second that passed more blood trickled from him, more of his strength sapped from his form, and his breathing became more and more deep and frantic. He didn't want to die, but this was agony. And in this situation, it didn't look like he had any chance for release except death from steel.

Or fangs, it seemed, as he heard the growling of an animal to his side. He turned his head to the side, and was greeted with the terrifying sight of a wolf baring it's sharp fangs at him, ready to pounce and flanked by two more of the fierce beasts. His eyes widened, but he couldn't find himself to make any move to run or defend himself. He had resigned himself to his impending doom, and was now watching from the point of an outsider, neutral and distant.

The wolf leaped at him, its cry drowning out Savra's plea for mercy easily. Hirem's final act was to close his eyes, preventing any further images to haunt his final, panicked thoughts. He waited one moment, two... nothing. Was he dead already? He doubted it, and opened his eyes. Instead of the wolf tearing into him, the animal had retreated along with the other ones, all of them growling at him to remind him that he was still in a very apparent state of danger.

Savra was certainly an intriguing figure, one that defied Yahal and could command a trio of deadly animals at such a young age. It gave Hirem cause to wonder about her past, a distraction from the events that had just taken place. What kind of an upbringing made a woman turn to her own fiery religion and forsake her family, running into the desert with only wolves for company? He sensed there was tragedy in her past, something dark that defied his weak mind at this point of time. Was that dark something going to be revealed any time soon? By Yahal, I hope not.

Hirem coughed as he pushed himself up into a standing position, thankful for no further combat. The three wolves aside, he still didn't stand much of a chance against Savra, which was pitiful given how different their sizes were. I have to be stronger. He chided himself, taking his time in answering her. I have to be stronger to protect both my life and the lives of others. The Benshiran man nodded to himself, and tried to coax words out of him, though it was a trial in and of itself.

"I would be inclined to thank you, but we both know that this is no gift. Still, thank you for giving me the small comfort of his body." Thanking Savra was hard to swallow, and he barely believed that he was saying those words, but he realized that the farther he got from his angry, raging side, the better he was. Being courteous to his enemy was some relief to Hirem, but the memories of his raging side were still very terrifying and very real.

With that said, Hirem examined the gladius anew, running his eyes over the cold steel with passive interest before he shifted his gaze back to Savra. He stabbed the gladius down into the top of the wadi, an indication that he wasn't going to offer her the kindness of handing the blade to her. "You should know the name of your enemy Savra, and so you shall. I am Hirem, and I would tear you, your wolves, and your Redeemer apart if given the chance."

With that said, Hirem took one last careful examination of his new enemies before backing away from the top of the wadi and turning back to the body of Netanel. He was aware that Savra could go back on her word and kill him right there, but he had faith in her word, if anything. The Benshiran wanderer slung the Rapa over his shoulders and began the long walk home, intent on leaving this place, but knowing that he would never forget the things that had transpired here. Savra, Netanel and the raging fury were now a sure part of him as the blood that had flowed from his wounds and disappeared into the sands.

[Savra]

Savra watched Hirem depart, carrying the Rapa’s corpse on his back. She hoped he wouldn’t succumb to his wounds as he returned to whatever place he’d come from. It would mean she’d wasted a lesson, and Savra hated waste. But then again, the wanderer had nearly had her there, hadn’t he? She’d been lucky to escape with naught but a broken nose. To succeed in her sacred task she needed to be faster and stronger – her skills honed to a razor’s sharpness. How else could she hope to triumph over the beasts and legends of the desert? Even as Hirem faded into the still-swirling sands, Savra still felt a thrill in her spine. His promise to tear her apart was a balm to her nerves. In her own way, she needed to feel such hatred to walk her chosen path. Savra experienced the same regrets and tribulations as other mortals, but she bore no kinship to them. Having abandoned those ties in service of the Redeemer, she trod the path of loneliness that was a prophet’s burden, sacrificing all that she’d been to spread her god’s promise of salvation. Savra was no longer a daughter. She would never be a wife or a mother; her hands were too stained by atrocities to consider such a normal existence. It was for the sake of her people that she’d sacrificed all this. Savra bore little malice for the misguided souls who’d cast her from Yahebah with their scorn and derision. Like this Hirem, their ignorance was understandable. How could they know of the Redeemer’s imminent wrath? As a prophet, Savra’s task was to exhort them toward the path of righteousness by any means at her disposal, even if that meant war and torture. “Come,” she spoke to her wolves, “let us leave this place. It is time that we ranged further in our search for allies.” Sheathing her swords, she turned and descended the wadi’s slope with her lupine companions, leaving naught but blood, sun, and sand in her wake. END

[Colombina]

The XP Wand Is Waved! What a great read you guys! (Apart from killing my npc, a no-no.) I am stoked to see some enemies develop IC. Also, Hirem, I enjoy watching the metamorphosis of your character. He has become more complex as time has gone on. And, Savra, you gotta love a good villainess. Savra's Loot 2 XP Sword 1 XP Intimidation Lore of local Rapas Hirem’s Loot 2 XP Sword 1XP Medicine Lore of personal rage Lore of signs of madness