Quest A Hunting We Will Go

[Traverse]

The Kukri flew, twirling around, driven by a strange sort of power if not any finesse or accuracy. The Zith watched it's progress with haughty intent, dark eyes lighting up a bit as his body torqued easily out of the way.

He was about to turn his gaze to the massive thing beneath him, mind already planning the victory. A quick slit to the throat and this creature could bleed out, leaving him with the duty of taking a quick wing enhanced hopped across the marred field to the savage beneath his dead comrade, whose death he would make sure to savor.

But there was a saying, even Zith knew of that spoke of about selling slaves before they were chained.

The Lakan sliced through skin and muscle, a deep wound, not fatal but certainly detrimental, and then the winged hunter got a taste of what the purple creature had done to him. An entirely different cry rang out into the night, then, one filled not with the pain of losing a brethren, but a strangely unnatural enhancement of injury. Perhaps the blade was poisoned? It was the only thought the creature mustered as it stumbled backward, favoring the leg, body crouched in pain as if the Akalak had tried to sever his leg. What strange sorcery was this?

Riaris would have time to rise, and the Zith whirled to face him, eyes wild with pain and confusion. This should have been simple, easy, why could it not be so?

He would not be like his comrade, however, charging blindly in. Instead the Zith took careful steps towards the Akalak, folding his wings around him like a cloak and taking a running jump whose grace was significantly lessened by the pain shooting up his injured leg. Twirling the wings unfurled in a sudden massive flap, daggers aimed in parallel swipes for the Akalak's chest, a strange desperation behind the Zith's attack. Perhaps the sort that a cornered animal portrays...

[Razkar]

Razkar's distraction worked well, for all the good it did him personally. But even as he struggled and squirmed his way out from under the dead and cooling Zith, he grunted with satisfaction at the feral screech and a splash of blood from under the remaining monster.

The Akalak had seized the moment. About petching time...

The big bastard started to haul himself up just as the injured Zith hobbled around and circled him warily. It hissed like a Dhani in pain and outrage, then took a flying leap towards Riaris, daggers flashing-

-but Razkar would not interfere.

Finding the strength to accomplish the miracle of getting upright, he filled his hands with his looted lakans, but did not move. Did not charge, or scream a challenge, or stalk with his usual cold, killing purpose. This was a blood fight between warriors, and he would not insult Riaris by interfering and stealing his glory.

Caked in blood, his own and the dead's in equal measure, Razkar stood swaying in the firelight, and willed his grudging comrade to victory.

"C'mon, you petching barbarian... get up and finish this..."

[Riaris Dovukalis]

Recoomas was surprised, even more so in shock. A viscous stab to a thigh with a dagger the size of a lakan should have been enough to sever the major blood vessels in the leg and cause the Zith to bleed out in a matter of ticks. Even more so with the curse of krysus applied the Zith shouldn't been able to stand up at all. And yet there he was, ready for more fighting only injured with a slight limp.

"What are you?"

Recoomas was sick of the Zith, no matter what he did the Zith continued to strike as if it had magical powers of it's own. Was this creature blessed by a God as well? He had to wonder. Recoomas watched as the Zith approached, reading itself for another powerful attack. The Akalak took in another deep breath as he watched and at the same time that the Zith dashed forwards Recoomas did as well swinging his lakan towards it's throat.

[Traverse]

Somewhere in the Zith's mind the a mangled phrase about defense being offense echoed there. He saw the strangely ceremonial blades of the Akalaks swinging viciously with the strength only one of their brutish size could utilize.

He had a decision, block the blow with his two blades, or continue the attack, and assume it was a feint. But neither of them were feinting at this point.

The pain in his leg was excruciating, and a strange combination of fear and adrenaline kept him going, but the winged creature's mistake came when he attempted to put his weight on the wounded appendage in order to gain balance against the attack.

Time seemed to slow for the nocturnal hunter. His body stuttered, collapsing in upon himself. His arms moved quick, but not quick enough to block the attack, and pupils turned to slits as he watched the elegant lakan come in, slicing neatly just beneath his chin.

The pain was sudden and immediate. He forgot what the pain in his leg felt like, for as blood began to spill up and out of his throat, the Zith could not think of anything else but the fiery gash that marred his flesh, enhanced by Recoomas's Gnosis. The injury prevented him from screaming, and so instead a strange choking gurgle came up, a mouthful of dark blood exploding out of the Zith's mouth and onto Recoomas's face as his opponent collapsed upon the ground, blood spilling out like a river.

Two clawed hands sunk into the ground, and for a moment it seemed like the creature sought to rise despite his mortal injuries. He wished to speak, to tell these pathetic sacks of meat that this was far from over, but it was much too late for that. With another cough and choked moan, the Zith collapsed into the ground, and Recoomas and Razkar were left alone, bruised and battered.

Patience paced slowly over the ground. She wasn't very fond of the dark purple beast that had rode her, but she preferred him to the winged beasts of the plains that she had seen more than a few of in her time as a warhorse. A soft nose pressed against his shoulder, nostrils snuffling curiously at the blood and sweat collected therein.

[Razkar]

So much to do... still to do...

Razkar watched the final Zith topple slowly, unwillingly, strange-colored blood coating its chest. So much of it... he was amazed at how much spilled down it before it finally let itself fall forwards and die, mouth moving and hole in neck still gurgling as it tried even then to speak.

But die it did. The Myrian breathed... a rote pull and push of his lungs... Goddess, he was tired...

... much to do...

He willed himself on stiff and cut and protesting legs to shuffle over to his own prize, now he knew that most of the danger tonight was gone. He heard no more from beyond the bonfire... but what proof was that of safety, he wondered? Then forced the thought angrily aside.

What comes, comes. Some things are more important.

With an effort he rolled the corpse of the Zith over. Blood had ceased to flow from the ragged gash in its throat, looking more and more like something had burst its way through the stiffening skin. Sightless eyes looked up at him blankly and Razkar grunted as he replaced his lakan... and unsheathed his kukri.

Better when they're alive.

Riaris was tired. So tired, but an Akalak's constitution is not one that submits easily to mere exhaustion. His vision swam but he was aware of a jerking movement further off... and identified it as the Myrian half-falling and half-lowering himself onto the dead Zith, straddling it about the waist.

Raising his kukri high, savage words spilling slowly from his mouth even as his own blood still dripped from his arms.

"Myri... cast eyes on your son this night. Feast though your warrior on this gift I bring."

Razkar slashed down and disemboweled the corpse just above the stomach. No vast flow of blood, now, just an open gash that looked eerily bloodless and antiseptic. But he continued, words still flowing as he replaced his dagger... and reached inside the torso.

"Goddess, I bring you victory. I bring you souls from glorious battle."

He found the organ he sought. After so many times, he would have known it anywhere. Ah, yes... the telltale muscles... the valves... the chambers... he gripped his fingers around it hard, and-

"Goddess... I bring you blood."

-ripped the Zith's dead heart from the hole in its chest, and raised it high over his head with a shaking arm, eyes upwards as black blood dripped and spat onto his face.

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

He ate it. Slowly, enjoying it, relishing the harsh and coppery taste of his victory. Once or twice he choked, gagged, the strain on his weary and bloody proving taxing... but when Riaris looked over again, the Myrian's hands were empty of organ but filled with blade-

-which he used to quickly, neatly scalp the dead Zith, tucking the bloody rag of hair and skin into his belt.

"Well..." Razkar said to himself "Now that's over..."

He crawled over to his tent, not risking his shaky feet anymore. Once there, bloody fingers found his healing kit and with a grunt he let himself topple over onto his arse. After a few moments of cleaning his many cuts and wounds, he looked over to the equally-battered Akalak.

"You have healing kit?" He said simply, jutting his chin a little. "If you no, speak. Have to make one do two men."

[Riaris Dovukalis]

Recoomas gave a loud war cry as the Zith fell while splashing him with it's blood. But the Akalak wasn't done, he turned his lakan into his palm and began stabbing the creature deep into it's back again and again. Finally when the mess of flesh and wings laid still on the group, Recoomas reached down picking it up and slamming it onto the ground again.

The Akalak was more than angry, he was enraged. How could a weak Zith cause him so much trouble, and it had to happen in front of a Myrian to make matters worse. It was pitiful and Recoomas knowing his weakness was one thing, but now the Myrian knew them as well. Their fight in the dojo had been well matched, but judging by the fight they'd just had, Razkar was on a much higher level than he. It was inconceivable, how had the Myrian become so strong in such a short time?

Recoomas snarled, reaching down to pick up the body of the Zith and slamming it into the ground a second time. Finally when he was winded, the bulky Akalak dropped to his knees and sat still. It was then that he looked over and saw Razkar gathering his items.or something else entirely. But he didn't care, his thoughts were still on the fight that he had just almost lost. He sat for another moment, before standing to his feet and putting his lakan away. His pale eyes glanced down to the daggers that the Zith had wielded against him and he reached down to pick them up, a gift to himself for his win..even though it had been a near lose.

He turned back towards the Myrian when he spoke again and gave a heavy sigh. He was injured, they both were and he could imagine how much worse it would get if he didn't treat it soon. He stumped over to where the Myrian was and sat down beside him. Recoomas didn't have a med pack of his own and for this he would need the Myrian's help. "I could use a little...help."

[Razkar]

There were no words, for they were not needed. Razkar winced and hissed as the salves ate into his suddenly-tender flesh, his cuts and wounds, cauterizing them. The snarlwings had left a dozen wounds on him but they were as gnat bites compared to the deep gashes caused by that bastard Zith creature.

For all the good it did him, he thought a little smugly, unconsciously patting the dripping scalp in his belt. Once his own wounds were bandaged well enough, he turned his attention to the Akalak... and took a deep breath.

Lot more skin to cover...

The Myrian shuffled behind Riaris and took care of those wounds that even his long, brawny arms could not reach. Even as he worked, mind frazzled and exhausted, he marveled at how tough the big man's skin seemed. Already it was... well, not healing, per se, but closing itself, flesh bunching together or trying to, as if the Zith had been hacking at a thick fungus rather than flesh.

But there were still plenty of wounds there, and blood oozed out of most of them. To his credit, the Akalak didn't so much as grunt or sigh while Razkar worked, years of experience on the battlefield teaching him enough about dressing cuts and gashes. After ten chimes, his fingers tired, he handed the rest of the kit to the big man.

"You finish." He said simply, words coming through as if from a long way off. "I take first watch."

With that Razkar turned his back on the Akalak and settled into a cross-legged posture. His weapons were drawn with a sigh of metal on leather, now familiar to Riaris, and placed on his bloody lap without a pause.

Black eyes stared out across the grass, wanting nothing more than to sleep even as the promise of dawn started to lighten the distant sky, but he was a soldier, and he had a duty.

He would watch until the big purple man was patched up, then welcome deep, healing oblivion.

[Riaris Dovukalis]

Recoomas sat silently as Razkar finished dressing his own wounds. The Akalak was present, but his mind was elsewhere. He continued to go over the fight in his mind. He could still see the Zith, how it moved, it's wings cheating to give it the advantage and kicking up dust. He could still remember how light it was on it's feet, and the way it wielded it's daggers. He would keep this in mind, and the next fight, the Zith would fall before him with ease.

The next part was a bit uncomfortable, not to mention embarrassing. Not only did he need the help of another to see to his wounds, but it was also a Myrian...and male. The brooding Akalak scoffed silently, he would have rather it been Kavala helping him, or at least another konti woman. But it couldn't be helped, much like most of what had happened on their trip from the city. But he would suffer through it and once Razkar was done, Recoomas took the kit and finished the work.

"You fight well Razkar..a true warrior even though you're not Akalak. You handled yourself well, you have my respect for that. A lesser man would be dead now...very dead."

He said nothing else, instead finished patching up his wounds then laid back to relax. He didn't return to his tent however, and decided to stay outside. Recoomas was far from ready to rest and even though he had a near call, the Akalak was burning with the desire to fight, to spill more blood.

"Soon...I will kill all of you...every single one." he mumbled to himself just as his eyes closed.

He didn't fall asleep much, and for most of the time he could still hear the world outside of his closed eyelids.But slowly, he drifted off into a short nap, and when he would awake, Riaris would be in control again.

[Razkar]

The Myrian's eyes were open, and they watched, but his mind... his mind was elsewhere. It needed to be occupied and entertained by something or it would finally succumb to exhaustion. And so Razkar played and replayed the Akalak's words over and over in his mind, surprised and gratified with them in equal measure.

A lesser man, he repeated in his own head, smiling weakly at the thought as the sky began to pale and Syna become clearer over the swaying grass, and I thought all others were lesser in their eyes.

Razkar waited until the whole round ball of Syna was visible, until it was a few hours from midday. That would have been six hours or so... and by the sounds of the labored snoring coming from the tent behind him, the Akalak certainly was making use of the time.

A snuffling to his right. His hands tightened reflexively on his weapons... then relaxed as he smiled, feeling a concerned snuffling at his shoulder.

"I am not dead yet," he said affectionately, patting Trikken's snout and getting slowly to his feet, "But I thank you for worry."

His mind was growing hazy now, and he knew he'd reached the limit of his abilities. The Myrian didn't even trust himself to bend down again, just kicked Riaris' side until he woke up with a start, eyes snapping open-

Razkar blinked. Something was... different. He felt a chill of uncertainty steal over him, that pall of ignorance that worries one when the truth of it is hidden. This was the same Akalak, true, but... not the same eyes. Still, he knew them and there was the same scowling question in them as usual.

"Your turn."

That was all he said. Riaris watched him stumble into his tent, not even bothering to close the flap. But just as he was about to haul his own purple arse upright, he heard a blurry, guttural voice call out.

"Not drag away Zith I kill!" Razkar called out, settling into his bedding. "Will eat tonight."

Then he let himself fall into a long-promised and painless darkness.

[Riaris Dovukalis]

There is a question that is asked, but only by those with the curiosity to learn such things. But, the question was, when an Akalak sleeps, who's dream is it? Would Recoomas be pulled into Riaris' or would it be the reverse? Or did the two souls dream separately and their conscious mind completely unaware of the others?

Either way, the Akalak did dream, and although it was only for a short time, it was vivd and felt real. It was raining and he saw himself outside training. There was a large punching bag hanging from a thick branch on a tree in front of him. The Akalak attacked the punching bag again and again, using his fist and legs to assault different areas one after the other. The Akalak flexed his brawny muscles and turned away, his focus now on fighting an invisible enemy.

He took a step forward, his arms raised to engage in battle. He tightened his lip, his fist clenched as he suddenly drew forward into a viscous punch that was followed by a kick. He turned left, his arm swinging outward as he sent another punch out and then followed it up with a swift round house kick. He landed, his feet slamming into the mud, for just a tick before he all but levitated himself up and backwards.

Another swing, thrust of his huge fist splattering the rain drops, and his legs swung up and out into a spiral kick. He landed again, and the storm surrounding him only became enraged as his burning desire did as well. There was a giggle riding on the winds and surrounded the Akalak just as the rain did. A sudden flash of lightening and his eyes widen to the sight of dead bodies all around him. The mud was now blood and the punching bag which he had pounded on was now a bruised and battered body..and then, he saw her.

"Gah!" Riaris grunted softly as his eyes opened to find the Myrian standing over him. Rarely were words shared between the two and it seemed that it would continue as Razkar stumbled away into his tent for a well deserved rest. Riaris didn't argue or comment, he simply watched then stood up to stretch. He wished he hadn't and now he felt is wounds all over again. He arched a brow when he heard the Myrian saying something about eating, but paid it no attention, for the moment he would just keep an eye out.