PM to join Terror From Above

[Razkar]

"Cowards!"

Razkar had no particular plans to die that day, but when the flock suddenly shattered off into a dozen directions, he felt a pang of disappointment flash through him. To loose his final arrow into them, then lay about with gladius until he was biting and clawing them, dragging their souls with his own to his Goddess... that would have been a fine end.

If he were on his feet, of course.

With a snarl he let his notched arrow fly, but it wobbled harmlessly through their rapidly-thinning ranks. The winged monsters were scattered for the horizon, for the setting sun, some stopping to scavenge and cleave what meat they could from the dead horse, and then vanish above the tall grass. But none were staying to fight.

The Myrian leaned forward and his body knocked him back down, not in the mood for any more injuries. He bow fell from his fingers and he lay there panting, adrenaline and rage and joy surging through him in equal measure.

A red-and-purple blotched sunset, the work of a mad god or a genius, looked down upon him as his eyes were turned upwards.

And then something new entered his vision. A vision, in fact. That same woman, bruises on the top of her forehead, white hair spilling over her shoulders, flecked and soaked here and there with scarlet. It must have been his imagination, but her hands and face seemed to glow as she loomed over him, whispering words he could not hear.

Razkar winced at his wounds... as his cuts...

Became no longer cuts.

Goddess...

The bulky human next to her looked down at the prostate Myrian with something a little more guarded, bloody ax still in his hand. The horses were milling around, ranging from dumb servility now the threat was gone to a frothing frustration in the Bloodbane that Razkar knew all too well. He could hear, but...

He could... feel his body... healing. There was no other word for it, and it was a strange experience. His whole life, Razkar had known the myriad forms of pain a body could endure. Cuts, bruises, bumps, slashes, bites, fractures, a dozen others. Now he could feel the cuts and slashes the monsters had carved into him close, the blood oozing from them walled again behind his skin. The wound in his shoulder closed, tingles of agony as the flesh knitted back together over in moments. He could feel the woman's hands moving lower towards his leg, his one remaining injury-

No. No, not yet.

A name. He heard her croak or mutter something that sounded like a name. His dark eyes flickered to hers, and with his teeth gritting so loud the human could hear it six feet above him, the Myrian pulled himself to a sitting position.

"Razkar." He growled, face lathered with sweat and blood in equal measure. "Not... Not yet."

She started to protest but he had already decided on his course. He staggered to his feet (or foot, more accurately), tottering and weaving. His wounds were closed but his thigh still complained, loudly and effectively, denying him full balance. But Razkar would not be held by this, he would not be denied.

And neither would his goddess.

He reached down and plucked his gladius from the ground, hefting it in his hands and giving silent thanks to whatever smith crafted so fine a weapon. But still, that was not enough. There were bodies littering the field, maybe a dozen of them, wings flickering in the breeze, bled out and mutilated by swords, blades, spears, arrows and rampaging horse.

Except one.

Razkar's eyes narrowed and a feral growl escaped his lips, spying one of the winged creatures moaning on the ground. He hoped, he prayed as he got closer, fervently and humbly. He would not stoop so low and to claim another warrior's kill on the battlefield, so...

The Zith looked up as a shadow fell over it. A blood-drenched Myrian grinned down at it, teeth clotted with gore. The man's eyes sparkled as he saw it was missing half its leg, panting and bleeding out. He'd thought this one was already dead, but these "Zith" were... resilient. And good sport. Even now, paling and on the verge of death, it still spat out curses and prayers...

But whatever gods or demons it prayed to, they were not with it today.

"Myri... cast eyes on your son this day..."

Razkar stepped over the Zith lying on its back and crashed down to a kneeling position, gritting his teeth, one knee pinning the thing's right wrist. The other batted upwards feebly, and Razkar reversed his grip on his gladius, bringing it stabbing down-

"Feast though your warrior on this gift I bring..."

-straight through the Zith's other wrist, pinning it to the bloody ground. It screeched again, animal fury now replaced with flat-out terror. It wailed skywards, calling for its kin, but none dared show their faces.

And above it, panting and muttering in his tongue, eyes glazed with holy pleasure, Razkar pulled the short hunting knife from his loincloth.

"Goddess, I bring you victory-"

With deliberate, careful precision, he sliced open the Zith's furry chest just below it's sternum, the thing gagging and choking now in agony. He ignored it, words tumbling louder and louder, so even the two strangers watching in fascinated horror could hear them.

"I bring you souls from glorious battle-"

He dropped the sword... and jammed his hand into the open wound. The Zith screeched in unbearable pain, head thrown back and blood pumping down its stomach. Razkar gritted his teeth, eyes wide and enraptured, and pushed deeper, searching, groping...

For the pulsating thing he closed his hands around.

"Goddess... I bring you blood."

-and with one vicious, brutal tug, he ripped out the thing's heart.

Razkar straightened up, facing the dying sun on the horizon, fading rays still peeking out from above the grass, as if brave enough to bear witness. But the smiling Razkar knew better: he knew his Goddess would not desert him until she had been sated.

He held the still-beating heart over his head in both hands, forearms completely red, arterial blood dripping onto his face as he closed his eyes in ecstasy.

"I, Razkar of the Shorn Skulls... fulfill my vow... and pledge myself... anew."

The fading light glinted off the organ, and with his words said and offering made, Razkar lowered the heard to his face... licked his lips... and took a bite out of it. The taste nearly overwhelmed him. Not the thick, rich flavor of Myrian, nor the watery inconsistency of Charoda. No, this is... smooth... gamey, perhaps, but with a softness that reminded him more of well-cooked Dhani.

Razkar's eyes rolled into the back of his head. The gnosis at the back of his neck burned, or seemed to. This was what he needed. This was where his destiny lay.

This was what he was born to be.

He finished the heart, and still chewing, snatched up the hunting knife and scored a thick cut onto the thing's head, from ear to ear just below the hairline. He gripped the hair at the back in a tight bunch, and pulled-

The bloody scalp came away with a ripping sound, and Razkar grinned even wider.

Plenty more to go...

Still smiling, Razkar got to his feet, eyes flashing around like a cat's for fresh corpses, the others he had butchered. He counted another six, and-

-that's when his knee finally gave up the ghost and he came crashing down.

He looked up at the two agog bystanders, and if a blood-splattered beserker can look sheepish, then Razkar certainly gave it a good try.

"OK..." he said, clearing his throat so they could hear him, "Now might need heal."

[Vanator]

When the assault ceased, Vanator slouched where he stood, panting heavily, each draw of breath stretching the open wounds flayed open on his back. The bloody ax slid through his grasp until the head rested on the ground, the butt held loosely in his hand. He knew the Zith would not be back. They were going to scavenge what they could and retreat to their colony. The Drykas wiped the blood from his face with a scrap of his shirt, before the gore spattered on his forehead dripped into his eyes. Those weary eyes dropped to see Kavala. He groaned as he watched her crawl towards the strange hunter, marveling that she could move at all. He did not protest, nor did he try to compel her to stop. It was what she was, and he could not prevent her from seeking to heal. Van trudged over to Kav and the man, but his gaze was drawn to the bloodbane. He had heard of Ravok's meat-eating horses, and knew Kavala had a few in the herd, but he had never witnessed their bloodlust, and to see a horse devour a fresh carcass was unnerving. He remained wary of their surroundings, watching over the healer and the warrior. Now Vanator could finally see the man who came to Kavala's defense. He was a stranger in evey sense of the word. He wore more tattoos than any Drykas, and his face was adorned with numerous bone piercings. His body bore the myriad of scars of a fighting man, more than Van possessed even after the abuse of his Zith captors. Everything about the man was exotic, primal. Razkar, the hunter had muttered. Then, as Razhar pushed away, struggling to his feet, Vanator watched him find the living Zith. The Drykas dropped to a knee next to Kavala, the movement eliciting exquisite pain and a sharp hiss as he inhaled involuntarily. His hand reached out to touch his sister's crimson stained head briefly as he leaned on the ax. But his eyes were on the greusome ritual the painted warrior conducted. The northerners sometimes said the people of the horseclans were savages. But this man was truly savage. Van owed a measure of gratitude to the warrior, but he was cautious, unsure of what sort of danger he could potentially pose now that the mutual threat of the Zith were gone. "We have to get out of here, Kavala. We have to get the horses out of here. We can get you on a horse," he muttered with a dry voice.

[Kavala]

Kavala couldn't take much more of it. Between the pain of her own injuries and the compulsion of the need to heal those not quite dead, Kavala was finished. She grasped at her brother, grabbing any piece of clothing on him she could and rasped in her broken voice. "Yes.. get home. Get the horses home. S.. Stranger too. Van, the compulsion... not all these Zith are .. are dead. The horses... wounded. We need to get...." She gasped, closed her eyes and shuddered in a way that was causing her to grow paler and paler. "Healers there.. more than me. I'm not enough. Not for here. Get us home... can't walk. Don't think can ride." She said, wanting him to understand she was not going to be much good to him.

There was blood all over her, most of it hers or from the zith she'd fought. Some of it was the dead horse's fluid. But enough of it was hers that she was too weak to carry on either healing or remaining conscious.

Meanwhile, the big herd stallion, a gray named Ghost who looked neither like a Strider nor like anything but perhaps a huge pale nightwalker, had gathered the mares, even the bloodbane that wore Kavala's tack, and was keeping the milling horses together. The stud's eyes were on the sky and a yearling colt was at his side, watching as well, seemingly consulting and looking for the older horse for guidance. It was evident that while they all were calmer now, they knew that Zith had come and that zith would be back in force.

"Van... more will come. More... go. Need to go now. Dead. We'll be dead if we stay." She said suddenly. Vanator's borrowed mare came up as the horses passed among the dead, a lead mare moving them slowly towards home.

Kavala called to a horse and a big Seme mare peeled out of the group. The herd stallion, Ghost, stopped alongside her. Both were big. Neither were wounded. "She will carry you." Kavala said, glancing at the stranger then back at Van. "Help him. She will carry him and whatever he wants. Ride Ghost. He will fight if they come back before we get safe. Take them past Sanctuary... past the wall... down the road to the beach. Into the Sea Cave... " She said, half sobbing now. "Gods Van, it hurts... Hit me... hard... on the head until we get home. Gods please..." She asked of him suddenly. "They agreed. The horses will carry you..." His sister whimpered again.

[Vanator]

As Kavala grasped desperately at his pant leg, Vanator crouched down beside her. It unnerved him to see his sister like this, bloodied, reeling from pain and the compulsion to heal everything around her. He had not known until that moment the power it had over her.

"Yes...I know." The Drykas knew the Zith would be back...they would be easy pickings then.

Van watched as Ghost drew near, followed by the large Semele Kavala had summoned. His eyes dropped again to Kavala as she made her plea. "Hit me... hard... " He nodded, groaning in his spirit. His konti sister was in agony, not only from the horrific fracture, but the uncontrollable need to employ her gnosis. The rough ride to Sanctuary would be torturous if she remained conscious.

"I am sorry, Kav," he muttered. Raising his hand, he struck her soundly in the side of the head with the heel of his palm. The pain and blood loss had her near unconsciousness, his carefully measured blow pushing her over the edge. She slumped against him. Van laid her in the grass, standing to climb onto the large stallion.

Van looked to the blood-smeared stranger. "Please, lift her to me." The painted warrior was injured as well, though he bore it with stoic grace. Receiving Kavala from the man, the Drykas set his sister across his lap, cradling her and the battle ax grasped the horse's long mane.

"Climb onto her," Vanator motioned to the large draft horse next to them, ..."and hold on." Using his knees, the horseman urged the stallion on, the intelligent beast needing little direction, it knew all too well where to go and the need to get there soon. Ghost and the Semele lead the herd towards sanctuary with bone-jarring urgency.

[Razkar]

Any other time and Razkar would have probably chopped off the hand that knocked Kavala into oblivion, but he was smart enough to know the woman needed it. She was keening, lowly and painfully, as if being around the blood and death pained her. Whatever her friend was able to give her was a mercy.

Besides, he wasn't in much condition to lop off anything right now.

They were leaving; that much was obvious. The creatures may have fled but once night truly fell they would be back, and tenfold, seeking not just prey but, worse, vengeance. And Razkar knew full well how dangerous that made an opponent.

"Please, lift her to me."

Razkar's leg felt like it was on fire, like it was gnawing, biting, able to just snap off his body at any moment... but his face betrayed little. He was master of his body, not vice versa. The woman weighed less than he thought, too, as he bent his arms under her legs and helped push and lift her onto the horse her human friend now straddled. Once she was safely across the animal, the long-haired Drykas spoke again.

"Climb onto her," Vanator motioned to the large draft horse next to them, "and hold on."

Razkar glanced at the tall, broad and eerily calm beast next to him, then back to the human. Oh, with pleasure... but there was one final thing. He could leave the scalps and the skulls and the weapons. These could all be gathered later. But he would not leave his weapon.

Sometimes limping, sometimes hopping, he cured softly and venomously all the way over to the Zith whose head he'd nearly cleaved in two with his ax. He bent down and grunted as he ripped it clear, brains and gore clinging to the head. The Myrian tucked it back into his belt and turned to-

-the draft horse stood there, as patient as ever. Razkar nearly jumped back and glared at the creature.

"You'd put a petching tiger to shame. Don't do that again."

An unimpressed whinny was all he got in response. That and a glowering look from Vanator that screamed "are you quite finished, moron?!"

Typical.

With a growl and a grunt he hauled himself across the massive horse, barely getting his right leg over its back. But once up there, the Drykas was true to his word: all he had to do was hold on.

The herd moved off, following the stallion and the mare like ducklings would their mother. A few were wounded, trailing little drops of blood as they trotted, but soon they were gone from the clearing. Nothing but silence and the stench of blood was left behind. Van (yes, he was sure that was what she had referred to him as) lead them, riding as if he was born in the saddle, his friend across his lap and head supported under his arm.

Razkar followed close behind, strewn with weapons and blood, fresh scalp shoved into his belt. Once he felt steady enough, he plucked it loose and tied it into his long hair, making sure the knot was tight.

Something screamed behind them. Not human or even animal. Something angry and outraged and flecked with grief. The sound was taken up by others, rising above the Sea of Grass.

Razkar spat behind him and faced forwards as the grounds their mounts trod traded grass and dirt for sand, and they were suddenly on a beach. Headed north.

Continued here

[Jackalope]

Kavala

Award

Skill	XP Earned	Lore Earned
Crossbow	+3	Zith: Determined to Get Their Kill
Bola	+1	Dodging an Unexpected Attack
Riding	+2	Zith Massing Technique
Dagger	+1	Zith: Lift and Drop Their Enemies
		Razkar: Refuses Healing
		Getting Knocked Out To Resist Compulsion

Razkar

Award

Skill	XP Earned	Lore Earned
Tracking	+1	Hunting Technique: Using Dung to Disguise Scent
Shortbow	+3	Zith: Ugly Creatures
Handaxe	+2	The Taste of Zith
Running	+1	Using an Arrow in Melee
Unarmed Combat	+1	Accepting Death
Gladius	+3	Refusing Healing Until the Battle is Done
Brawling	+1
Observation	+1

Injury: Looks like the femur injury went untreated. This is a fracture which, if untreated, will take 6-12 weeks to heal fully. This is, of course, if Razkar keeps off it. So if you don't get it healed magically, keep this in mind in threads after this date.


Vanator

Award

Skill	XP Earned	Lore Earned
Riding	+1	Rushing to Defend
Running	+2	Using a Makeshift Ax
Battle Axe	+3	Zith Massing Technique
Observation	+3	Meat-Eating Horses: An Unsettling Sight
Spear	+1	Knocking Someone Out In Order To Help Them
Unarmed Combat	+1

Jackalope's Notes

Wow! A ton of action here! I think I got everything, but if you have anything you think I missed or wanted, please let me know and I'll be more than happy to work with you. Great writing you all! Keep up the great work!