Claws versus Fangs (Shadowfang, Massacre)

[Creeper]

Timestamp: (You can decide amongst yourselves) Time: Morning Location: Longhouses Who: Massacre, Shadowfang A Zith, a fairly common sight in the Base Camp these days, landed just outside of the longhouses, sniffing around for brethren. He was well known here, as a leader of the colony Knyvz. This was Lynx. He had been raised by the Jamoura, taught their ways. They were... difficult to embrace sometimes, but he tried, his children tried, and his colony tried. But they didn't have to change much. Caiyha loved predators, they just had to not hunt within the city. It was not their territory. This was a truce they could live with, there were for more than enough animals in the forests of Taldera. And the Jamoura would occasionally trade for the Salialana, used in perfumes or something. Lynx wasn't sure what that was for, but didn't matter, food was food, and that brought more. The fangs and claws in his colony has been helping the Jamoura capture their citizens, many of whom had gone wild. Lynx really didn't know the problem with that, but he knew the Jamoura needed help, and his tribe would answer the call. Honestly, he liked them a bit better when they were wild, they were much more like himself. But a favor earned deserved a favor paid. But here he was, coming to ask for help, to seek out his brothers in claws. One of the Hahk'Shatara approached him, "Hello Lynx, what brings you here?" Lynx knew his brothers and sisters from the colony would recognize his scent, the beat of his wings, and he could feel their eyes on him already, waiting, listening to their leader. The others began sending out high pitched cries, cries only the Zith would be able to hear, to bring them all in. They started landing atop roofs, gathering around Lynx at a distance, twenty to thirty total. "One of my sons received word that a displaced colony from the south is coming this way, and we aren't sure if they intend to attack here or our colony. We need to stop them before they get here. I need every pair of wings and claws you can spare. I know my brothers and sisters and sons and daughters will come with me, but I smell a few that are not of my colony. What say you?" This question was directed at the handful of Zith that happened to be around, those not of his family. They would find it odd how eloquently he spoke, but he did deal with the Jamoura more than most, and it showed. "We leave in a bell, and will be back by sundown, victorious. Prepare yourselves."

[Massacre]

OOCMassacre is free any day after the 82nd of spring, except the 86th, which Shadowfang and I already have a thread going, so feel free to put it whatever date you like, Shadowfang. Massacre had been up most of the night out hunting for more lost souls in the fog. He'd only been two or three bells back when the commotion began outside the longhouses. Massacre finally stirred at the sound of Zith voices, lots of Zith voices, and soon their scent filled his nose. Something was going on outside, and it involved a lot of Zith. Massacre had not interacted much with many of the Zith in the Spires, though he was not intentionally avoiding them either. He had simply been busy trying to capture and return those in the fog and didn't have time to socialize, but something was happening outside and Massacre couldn't overcome his natural Zith curiosity. The elder rolled off the top bunk, an object he was still trying to get used to resting on, and landed on clawed feet. He quickly made his way outside, squinting and raising a hand to shield his eyes from the bright light. When they finally adjusted he saw that there were somewhere between twenty to thirty Zith around him, all focused on one individual in the middle. He must have been their leader. The Zith did speak a bit more eloquently than Massacre was used to of his own kind. Certainly more so than Massacre himself would speak, but his meaning was easy enough to decipher. The Zith's tribe was being threatened, and he was calling his people home to fight. Massacre recalled the days when he used to lead his own tribe, and especially recalled the fact that he was usually the one threatening other tribes. Those were the glory days, days Massacre would give anything to get back, but he'd found it difficult to establish a new tribe for himself. He didn't like to be led, he preferred to be the leader himself. Even so the Zith, who apparently went by the name Lynx, proposed an enticing offer. To fly and defend the colony again, even if it wasn't his own colony.. the thought almost made Massacre's mouth water. The older Zith step forward, answering in the language of his people. His age was clear in his face, but his body was fit and his claws were sharp as ever. "I am Massacre. I came here to help these Jamoura creatures, but if a fellow Zith needs help defending his colony, how could I say no? I'll come if you will have me."

[Shadowfang]

OOCAlright 88th is my vote for a time stamp then

Shadowfang was lying down on his bed, doing something he had not had time to do for a while; writing in his journal. Now that the longhouse was mostly empty and Ana was not taking up space next to him in the bed, he felt that this was the best chance he would get. He was turned to the back cover of the book, writing down a makeshift to-do list. Right now, be only had one real task. Go to the lektern of Eriss and medetate. He frowned down at the scribbled words. Others had always told him that he spelled words wrong often, but he could not see a problem with how any words that he wrote were spelled. He turned to a page titled Places and looked at the section he had made marked The Spiers. He stared at the page and wondered what else he could write into the space. 

High pitched voices from outside distracted him and he looked towards the long house door, then looked back down at his journal. There were more voices than usual, but he did not think anything of it. He could not decipher what any one voice was saying anyway. Suddenly the older Zith, Massacre, was walking past to exit the building. Shadowfang was not one to usually get distracted from his writing but if Massacre found something interesting then Shadowfang might find it interesting as well. He closed the book and left it on the bed with his pack, taking only the daggers that were always at his side with him.

He walked outside to find a multitude of Zith all gathered around one certain Zith, many more than Shadowfang had anticipated. He was surprised at how easily the elder, named Lynx, could speak Common. Shadowfang himself had to think hard about what he was trying to say before he said it, and even then he could not get a message across sometimes. He thought for a moment. The Crimson Edge was almost like a colony of his own and he vowed to protect them, so why should he not help other Zith protect their own colony? Besides, this offered an opportunity to further prove himself useful to the Sprians. 

"I am called Shadowfang. I am eager to help too." he shouted simply in his native tongue. He dearly hoped that they would take him along to help. In fact, he was itching to go right now! He already had everything he needed with him. He did not want to wait for a bell, but he would have to. At least it would give him a chance to do a bit more writing. 

[Creeper]

During the bell while they waited, the group's numbers swelled from twenties to forties. Lynx led the flight, taking off and heading south, loud war screeches filling the air. They flew as a loud unit, sending every critter scurrying for cover. Fangs flashing, claws shining, battle cries raising the adrenaline in every single one of them. They flew for nearly a half bell, before they came across another of their kind, a scout, who joined the flight. They continued to fly as the description of the enemy colony floated from individual to individual. "They are roughly same in number as our flight. They are tired from travel, battle weary. Other scout said they had something stronger. Didn't say what. Injured bad, can't fight." As they continued further, Lynx called them to a halt as he came across the mangled remains of one of his scouts. While many of the Zith perched on branches or against trunks, it was evident there was more than a colony of Ziths here. The slash marks that flayed open his chest were twice the size of even the biggest of them there. One of the Zith's arms looked like it had been bitten on to and ripped off, laying far away from the body. Holding the arm, he plucked a single fang out of the wound, and compared it to his own. Same shape, same breed, but three times the size. He sniffed at the air, his ears twitching, as the wind shifted to south to north. It was morning, maybe they had gotten lucky and the other colony was bunkered down for the night. As he was about to give the order to fly once more, the ambush struck, the entire colony had been surrounded quickly and silently. Many of the Spirian Zith were caught unawares, screeching until their throats were ripped open. None of the attacking enemy had weapons aside from what the Valterrian had given them, but they had a confidence that was beyond what was expected of a group that had traveled so far. Two of the attackers were baring down onto Massacre, while one was sneaking up on Shadowfang, a second distracting him with a frontal assault.

[Massacre]

Over the next bell Massacre tried to decide what he would bring with him. All his arrows had been converted to Stinger arrows, and it would take some time to switch them back to regular ones, if he could salvage them at all. He could run and seek out the merchant, possibly purchase some new arrows, but Massacre decided it would be easier just to leave his bow behind. Instead he grabbed his sword, strapping it into place across his back. He probably wouldn't use it, however. He preferred to fight claw to claw, and bearing weapons against a fellow Zith seemed somehow to be cheating. Unless of course they too had weapons, then it was fair game. But Massacre was better with his claws anyway; he would only use the sword if he had to. Flying with so many Zith at once sent Massacre flashing back to the days of his youth. Even at his largest, his tribe had not been quite so many as the one he flew with now, but each and every one of them were hardened warriors. Massacre only allowed the best in his tribe, and even the females were fighters. He could recall each and everyone one of them, their names, and their faces. Massacre had not always been the leader of his tribe, but even before, they were still fierce hunters. Perhaps it would not be wise to tell the rest of the Zith about his kin, because his were Zith that would do just what these Zith were trying to do now. Massacre had led many attacks on other Zith tribes to "merge" them with his own. Anyone older than he would be slain, no matter how useful they might be, so that Massacre could stay in charge. He missed those days, but he also regretted his them. He was foolish in his youth, and because of it, every one of his brethren were slaughtered by the fierce jungle people across the sea. Massacre did not stay long in the land of the past, because after a short while they encountered a scout. The rumor of something stronger drifted from wing to wing until it reached Massacre, drawing his attention away from his thoughts of days long gone. What might it be? Did the tribe have slaves they were using to fight? Perhaps it was a good thing he had brought his sword. Massacre could handle claw to claw, and he wouldn't shy away from a blade, but it was much smarter to fight steel with steel. The scars on his arms were proof of that. When they landed to examine the dead Zith Massacre perched on a tree and looked on with concern. It looked like a Zith attack, but by something much larger. Massacre had traveled far, but the only creature he'd encountered with claws as large as that were the orange and black cats of the jungle. But the slashes were more like that he would leave with his own claws, not like those from a tiger. What could have done it? Massacre didn't have time to ponder on the thought. The death screeches of Zith all around him drew his attention and Massacre watched as the ambush occurred. How had so many Zith snuck up on them? All Zith had keen senses, it wasn't possible! He didn't have time to worry about that, however. Two Zith were bearing down on him, and Massacre immediately launched himself from his perch to meet them. Not bothering with his sword, his claws flashed menacingly in the morning light. Massacre didn't slow his flight as he neared them, and unless the dodged, he would barrel right into the closest one. Massacre slashed his claws, trying to rip out the Zith's throat. He growled angrily, fully caught up in the moment. It had been so long since he'd been in a good fight.

[Shadowfang]

During his bell of waiting, Shadowfang stared at the blank page in his journal, wondering what to write. He had tried to write one of those notes that began If you are reading this then I am dead, like in the storybooks but what if someone read it before he died? The heroes in those books were always so confusing to him, doing dangerous deed for seemingly little to no reward and not even being bothered when they got hurt. The only time they ever did seem hurt was when their mate died or ran away. He shook his head and gave up trying to decipher the motives and emotions of heroes.

He was surprised and excited at the number of Zith that had gathered and could not help but join in the loud war cries as the group flew. He felt jittery, excited, and at home, ready to rip to shreds the enemy that presented itself to him and this colony. His screeches blended in with the others, until the air seemed filled with one consistent cry of animal excitement. News of what they were up against got him thinking of what might be stronger. Had the other colony brought a big, strong slave with them to help fight? Like a Jamouran or a big Kelvic? As they landed at the area where the dead scout lay, his theories began to spread to pin the blame on things that may not even exist. Just as images and thoughts of giant monsters that could rip people apart just by looking a them entered his mind, the ambush struck. 

At first, he did not register the screaming all around him, cries of pain and anger and violence, but when a Zith about his size dropped from the sky in front of him and turned to face him, he knew exactly what was going on. He growled angrily at the offender and drew a throwing dagger as the other Zith charged. He flung the dagger at the advancing Zith, missing him by a long shot, but at least distracting him for an instant. He quickly drew his Assassin's dagger and lunged, pointing it out in front of him. The rival Zith's hand was cut by the sharp blade and it shrieked and recoiled. Just as Shadowfang stepped forward again, he felt a searing pain on his back and the joint of one of his wings.  He turned to see another Zith, angry that it had not gashed Shadowfang's neck like it wanted to. 

This was bad. He had a Zith on both sides of him, both of them equally intent on killing him. His best course of action was decided for him when the first Zith charged again. Shadowfang turned and ran forward, aiming to collide with his enemy in a flourish of fang and fur and bring his dagger down wherever he felt someone else's fur. His animal instincts took over and he became filled with a form of fright. To him, this battle was about survival. And the only way he could survive would be if he killed every last enemy Zith in this clearing.