Flashback A Crimson Lesson [Tinnok]

[Razkar]

35th Day of Spring, 510AV
Northern Falyndar

The were on the march before the sun had fully risen, but under the thick canopy of the Falyndar jungle, who could tell when that was? Not all of Falyndar was jungle, of course. Much of it was swamps and even plains, but the choking green was prevalent above all. Especially in the northern reaches that marked the end of the Myrians' domain and the beginning of the barbarian reaches.

Razkar fancied that if he looked hard enough, he could see the edge of their realm. He could feel the light of Myri fading as they marched onwards, through their jungle and to the cusp of their civilization.

Nonsense, of course. But you find yourself thinking of anything during the boredom of patrol.

He and a dozen others snaked through the jungle floor in a silent line, eyes flickering every which way. Three of their number ranged further ahead, the fastest and stealthiest, scouting the way to come. Rehkuna, their fang leader, walked at the head of the rest, Razkar behind her. No words were spoken, no chattering or gossip. The jungle was thick and turgid with sound enough; they had learned not to make it even more hard to read with their own voices.

Two weeks ago they had marched under the skull-encrusted gates of Taloba, heading north. Their mission was simple and ubiquitous: patrol, observe and if necessary, act. The norther border was by far the most active, aside from the area around Zinrah, of course.

Razkar and the rest of his fang ached to be pitted against those monsters. Rehkuna was more reserved. Her body bore the scars of battles with constrictors, and she knew them to be ferocious and cunning. Besides, that was not their mission.This was.

Boring and tedious as it is...

The bird call struck out from in front of them; a signal from their scouts. At once, all feet stopped, Myrians becoming statues in the humid air. The signal was the precursor for a message, the announcement of it. So they waited, ears pricking...

Another bird call. Three sharp caws and then a lilting shriek.

Razkar's fang relaxed, something like contentment on their faces. They knew what it meant.

Another fang.

They walked on and one by one, more figures detached themselves from the jungle, Myrian after Myrian, clad in loincloths and leather armor, weapons of all manner held in ready hands. White smiles split dark skin as the two fangs met, the fang leaders regarding each other that an easy hostility.

"Ioxera." Rehkuna said, voice that cool and level tone one reserves for an old rival. "Well met are we. Patrol?"

"Same orders as you, Rehkuna." The older Myrian woman had the embers of a smirk on her face, fingers rapping on the hilt of her sheathed sword. "Have you seen the tracks yet?"

"Tracks?"

"Oh, so you haven't?" Now the embers became a fire, relishing Rehkuna's frowning bewilderment. "We found tracks just within the border. Humans, we think. Certainly smells like them..."

Razkar and Oxil and his fang and the other fang all just stood and listened. Nods were exchanged between familiar faces, but they were reserved, guarded. All the fangs in the Myrian army were in competition with each other. For supplies, or weapons, or training, or just the glory of combat. The generals kept it that was and Razkar saw it as wisdom.

Keep them striving. Keep them pushing each other. Racing to be tougher and stronger and more skilled.

Razkar saw one face in particular, the figure it belonged to set aside somewhat from the rest of her fang. She had changed perceptibly in the time since they had last met. Body leaner, harder, a handful more scars and some fresh tattoos.

But the yellow slit eyes had remained the same.

"Well met, Tinnok."

[Tinnok]

Swish, chunk, swish, chunk, swish, chunk, swi-kurk Agile fingers flipped a newly wrapped leather dagger handle in her grasp. She liked the feeling of the blade, how it fit so well, and the balance…well that was new, but it was why she was playing with it as they walked. She’d catch the blade in her palm, then flip it to catch the hilt. Her last attempt was to catch the tip between two fingers. The last was the sound of it falling into the ground. A snorted chuckle emanated from behind her, but Tinnok merely swiftly bent, picked up the blade and thrust it into her belt. She was in a foul mood this morning, and bit her lip only to cringe in pain. The appendage was swollen and split and she had more than a few bruises upon her body.

It had turned into a game. A fun game that. Who could beat the shyke out of the half breed without Ioxera noticing? You received bonus points for doing little things to the snake bitch when she was looking if she didn’t reprimand or beat you herself. Slowly the game had generated new rules, Tinnok took the tiniest modicum of solace in learning them: For instance if the snake spawn didn’t react emotionally, that wasn’t worth as many points as when she got riled up, see? Even if it drew the attention of their fang leader, it was still worth it to make her squirm. So far the leader of this game was a particularly vile brute named Chinra. She was short for a female, but made up for it with vicious brawn and skill with a serrated long sword that Myri would be proud of. It was rumored that a Dhani raid had murdered all children below ten years in her clan and no one else, and ever since then Chinra had never quite been the same. Tinnok didn’t much care about her comrade’s sob story, and had told her as much: The half-breed’s ribs still didn’t feel right.

She still wasn’t sure what was worse, that she felt craven for not fighting back, and how it tore at her gut, or that perhaps this game would wear on her so that one day she simply wouldn’t care anymore. Regardless of that, Tinnok’s short time in the military had already resulted in a whole new set of scars, not all visible, and she was just reflecting on a few of these when the call rang out in the forest.

Fingers ran over the hilt of her dagger, but then she heard the call, whistling out a quiet repeated version of it for herself: Another group. Part of her felt a thrill of excitement as the others did, the idea of competition and trading of stories and scars running through her tired mind. These things were for a normal solider, however, and the excitement was doused nearly as soon as it had come. She let the others move in front of her, sliding out of the forest like ghosts as her feet padded silently over the soft earth. Slowly her eyes drifted upward, looking at the skin and tattoos of those that surrounded her, each with their own tales and trials. She spotted a set that seemed familiar on a well-muscled chest, glistening with the exertion of a day’s march. Eyes drifted ever upward into a dark gaze that had found hers as well: Razkar. Tinnok gave a slight inclination of her head as the leaders discussed matters, rather surprised at how glad she was that the tiger was there as well. “And You, Son of the Shorn Skulls.” It was tight and formal, not that the two had any cause to be friendly, but still… A few glances were thrown their way from her own fang. The snake had an acquaintance? Could this be used to affect the game, perhaps turn the tables on Chinra for the benefit of another? Tin’s nostrils flared a bit as she backed away from the group, just in ear shot of the conversation that was commencing.

Ioxera had her hands folded casually upon one another, eyes glancing up into the canopy. “Not a surprise your dogs can’t track for Tskanna dung, but you’re in luck, looks like there’s a fair few of em, care to tag along, Rekhuna?” Glares and smirks were thrown in equal measure. It would be quite a blow to accept upon those terms, offered a bone and taking it like a starving dog, but the chance to pass up human hunting was a prospect too good to be true. The tiger let her expression relax and gave a purr, causing even Ioxera’s confident demeanor to waver. “We’ll play your little game Ioxy, you find them, we’ll kill them.” Chuckles and curses were thrown between the fangs, but the reserved sense of camaraderie that came from temporary alliances relaxed both groups. The women conferred between themselves for a moment, and then marching orders were given. Tinnok let out a long sigh and just hoped it wouldn’t be much longer till she could eviscerate something, her fingers were beginning to twitch.

[Razkar]

The order of battle was rough-hewn and lashed together, but it was as simple as it had been before. Now six scouts ranged ahead in a semi-circle, looking for any sign of passage. To any watching from the trees, it would almost seem as if it was one massive creature with the scouts as whiskers or feelers.

When one found a track, or a broken limb, the body of Myrians would change direction to follow it, snaking after their prey.

"They're hardly even trying to cover their tracks," Oxil mumbled to Razkar, both hands needed to keep his heavy mace ready, "Like they want us to find them."

"That may be the case." Razkar said thoughtfully, eyes fix on Rehkuna and Ioxera in the lead, their verbal bickering now at an end but every body movement screaming of the competition to come. "But it's just as likely they aren't expecting to be tracked. It has been lifetimes since the Myrians and barbarians waged true, open warfare against each other. People forget. They believe we are either too stunted or complacent to defend our realms, and that gives them leave to pillage it."

A throaty, nasty chuckle arose from his mouth, and it was no from him alone. He patted the weapons at his hips, eager to have them unleashed. He had yet to taste war with his fang, and every boring, dead-end patrol they underwent, it did not deaden his resolve, but burnished it. Heightened it.

"This generation must be taught anew. And if it is to be a crimson lesson, who better to teach than the Myrians?"

A murmur of appreciation at his words was quashed instantly by a hissed "Quiet!" from Rehkuna, who's head had twitsted to balefully regard her troops.

"Silence in the ranks! We are tracking, not on a bloody sightseeing tour!"

"You need to discipline your troops better, Rehkuna."

Rehkuna's eyes flashed to to Ioxera and while their intensity did not waver, her jaw clenched as she found new words out of deference to her rank. When they came, they were ground out between clenched teeth.

"I need not your advice on how to run my fang, Ioxera. And that order for silence? That applies to you, as well."

They marched on, the two fangs side by side, but now it was in silence... or something close to it. After a bell of tracking, Razkar realized that she was marching next to him. He glanced over and noted her gaze was on the jungle, head moving slowly back and forth, scanning the foliage constantly. Any traces of fat had long been expunged from her now, seasons with the army of Taloba not permitting any fleshy weakness.

New weapons, too. But new bruises... unusual bruises.

"I do not recall the fang of Ioxera involved in many skirmishes." He murmured, voice so low that it carried not beyond their ranks, was barely audible even to the Myrians in front and behind. "And yet you sport fresh wounds."

He glanced again, gauging her reaction. A tightening of her jaw. A slight hollowing of her cheeks and a flinty resignation in her eyes. Things had been hard on her. Good. They would make her strong, or kill her for weakness. Myri always had use for the latter; the former was despised above all.

"A fierce time you must be having... I hope you are giving a good accounting of yourself."

She seemed as surprised at his words. To be frank, so was Razkar.

[Tinnok]

Everyone moved into place like a well oiled machine, and Tinnok along with them. The silence felt good, along with walking next to those that couldn't see the faint shimmer of her skin under the shaded canopy, nor would she give them a glimpse of her eyes if she could help it. Regardless of how fast the whispers traveled of her identity, how many from this fang would join in the game, for now she could take solace in the silence, the comfortable weight of her weapons on her back and the trail ahead.

She felt his eyes upon her. At first she thought it was just a curious member of the tiger's fang, but then she noticed it was Razkar. She pursed her lips, wondering if she had done this somehow unconsciously, or her had. Then he spoke. He was a breadth enough of the squat ugly thing which she remembered well from that day in the training yrard didn't seem to hear them. He looked well, and she took stock of his weapons. That gladius, the hand ax, a short bow. A few knives that she imagined were more as trophies than anything hung from his belt, and she nodded. The arsenal didn't make the Myrian, but a Myrian without one was still a humorous sight. He baited her with words, but she refused to take it. She could see from those hawk-like eyes that he took the subtle meanings of her clenched teeth and hollowed gaze for what it was, however. Then he spoke again. Her eyes widened slightly, and for a moment she was tempted to hiss at him and tell the Shorn Skull to petch off. Then she took stock of herself.

It was the first time in weeks someone had spoken to her without a sneer in their tone or an ulterior motive. This? This was regular conversation that any two soldiers could share, and she was about to petch it up and tell him to go with Dira? Tinnok snorted a bit to herself, amused with her own foul mood. Her body loosened a bit and she gazed up the ranks. "They say that a Myrian Tiger is such a good hunter, not because of size, or those damned claws and teeth, but because of its patience. I may be many things, but I am a patient abomination." It didn't precisely give an answer, but it was something, and as she watched Chinra's sauntering back a fire lit up in her eyes.

She examined the male up and down now, gaze flicking back to the trees. "Tell me of one of your tattoos..." She paused, contemplating for a moment, "...a fun one, whatever Razkar of the Shorn Skulls deems fun to be." Her voice was low and quiet as they walked, and she heard the murmurs of others. She wasn't sure if this was an appropriate topic of conversation, but she also hadn't done this before. Her gaze would occasionally flick to him, but the majority of the time those yellow eyes panned straight ahead to maintain the illusion of a silent march.

[Razkar]

"They say that a Myrian Tiger is such a good hunter, not because of size, or those damned claws and teeth, but because of its patience. I may be many things, but I am a patient abomination."

Razkar grimaced slightly as he considered this, and after a few chimes of turning it over in his head, found it a passable answer. Cryptic, true, but Goddess alone knew how twisted a half-Dhani mind must be. Besides which, she was right. If the great tigers of the forest were all storm and fury, they would never catch anything. Razkar had seen them, glimpses now and again, and knew from his watching they were not made for a long pursuit. Sprinters. Short, sharp, ambush predators. That required patience.

Where do you think the Myrians learned it from?

More walking, and marching, and miles covered of fetid and buzzing jungle. But as they walked, Razkar sniffed the air and felt it... cooling, if only slightly. They were pushing further north, towards the very border of their lands. They would not cross it, of course. Unlike the barbarian leaders beyond her, Myri respected the ancient pacts and agreements. Her people stayed within Falyndar. Period.

"We must be getting closer," he murmured, half to himself, squinting as the two fang leaders started to debate in whispers, "We've marched too long... either they're outrunning us, or we've lost them."

"Tell me of one of your tattoos. A fun one, whatever Razkar of the Shorn Skulls deems fun to be."

Razkar turned his head this time, and be damned to the pits anyone who saw it. A year ago he would probably have been among the number who abused and tormented her; even now he was not her friend, to be sure, but he did not see her as an enemy. She was malformed and damned in the eyes of the Goddess-Queen, Razkar was sure, but she did not choose her father. None of them did. A lot had changed in the hour they had first sparred; much changed in the year that went by since they had met.

And, if Razkar was honest, she had happened to him.

When her face crossed in front of his eyes, he felt a smile light his face and turned his left arm out so the underside of it was fully showing. He tapped it and Tinnok turned at the distinct pat-pat of flesh and flesh, then looked down.

A fearsome tiger snarled and slashed upwards from his forearm, mouth impossibly wide and tail snaking around his wrist. Meeting its brutal assault at around his elbow, two figures were splayed over his bicep and upper arm. Tin blinked as she recognized one: however stylized and marred it was by the black-and-white ink, Razkar's visage was still clear, ax and gladius held in each hand and raised to strike at the creature.

But the other...

A female. Features... now, that was curious. She wore the leather and loin of a Myrian, but her features were softer, rounded. She bore a bow in one hand and a double-sided dagger in another, face calm but eyes wide and fierce.

They fought side by side forever on his flesh, facing down their animal adversary together.

"Her name is Ayatah," Razkar whispered, determined not to get bawled out again, "She joined me for a tiger hunt last year. Without her, it probably would have killed me. It bloody well nearly killed her." For a brief second Tinnok saw a flash of faded fear in Razkar's eyes, as if he was remembering the terror of that moment. "But we are not easy to kill."

They kept walking, his arm turned back in, but in their silence, Razkar thought he heard a faint question left unsaid. His eyes flickered to his side again and saw Tin's brow furrowed in thought. He smiled to himself and kept his eyes to the front as he answered.

"She is... some would consider her... she's a half-breed. But she is as Myrian as any others that march with us this day. You have more to overcome, being of the Ancient Enemy." He said, using his clan's old name for the Dhani. Then he shrugged, almost philosophical despite his next wording. "You might not. Snake blood is thick and lasting. But you try. That is good..."

The bird call from the jungle stopped them dead again.

[Tinnok]

She enjoyed his silence as well. It was contemplative, intelligent. He looked the part of the brute to be sure, but he had the same look in his eyes as a feral cat, an innate cleverness that went past mere brawn or skill with a weapon. Tinnok vaguely wondered in the back of her mind if that was because he was male. They had to be clever, pushed around and mistreated as they were, lower than females on the hierarchy of Taloba. Had to figure out how to make their way in the world without relying on their gender to support them in this endeavor. Then she looked at Razkar's companion and shook her head. No, that couldn't be it.

When he tapped his flesh and looked at her, there was something soft and memorable in his gaze, and the half-breed could almost swear she was looking at a different person entirely. She looked upon the marks on his flesh. They were not the most beautiful tattoos she had ever seen, but they were still artful, and what a scene they portrayed. She listened as he told the tale, but part of her mind drifted away as she squinted hard at the female figure on his arm. She looked extremely familiar, but she couldn't place where.

"Her name is Ayatah," Tinnok practically burst into laughter right then and there. As it was she had to keep a fist over her mouth, and close her eyes. She transformed the utterance into a significantly more innocent cough, which she then stifled into her elbow. Goddess above, the world worked in the strangest ways. He glanced at her curiously, but lowered his arm. He must have seen the confusion in her gaze, but misread it as to the identity of the female.

Her mouth twitched at his explanation. Oh her and Ayatah had a lifetime of knowledge of how each of them survived the torments of their mixed blood, aside from Rarik the half Eypharian was her closest confidant, though of course Razkar had no way of knowing that. The humor of the instance just couldn't leave her senses, even as he spoke of her own trials, and once he was finished Tinnok opened her mouth to reveal her intimate knowledge of just that when both of their heads turned in unison for the whistle. It had been too long, she mused, the trail clear, the signs so obvious. Fools or no the humans should have known better to traipse so casually, there were plenty of hidden dangers that didn't carry swords and bows. Yet they had not caught up, not yet.

It was a toucan call that followed, a strange staccato call. It meant that there were dogs. Tinnok's brow furrowed. Wild ones? Another call. No they were the human's, but from the sounds of the cries that followed the amount of people that lay perhaps 400 yards ahead were not all that there were. Tinnok un-slung her bow. She didn't much care. A dead human was a dead human, and there was time still to catch up to the main collective if this was a rear party. She glanced at Razkar, waiting for the order to move forward.

[Razkar]

All thoughts of recollection and conversation were locked away when the keening staccato call ripped through the humid air. At once the eighteen Myrians in the main body stopped, hands sliding silently to weapons, unlimbering bows, notching arrows. Waiting...

Another call, and Razkar grimaced. Dogs. An unusual thing in Falyndar, separate from the wolves, lesser and yet somehow more ferocious for their breeding by the barbarian races. A wolf was fierce, proud and cunning, but dogs were imbued with that malignancy of humanity. They used them as trackers or hunters, or even attack animals like miniature Myrian Tigers. If the humans had bought them, it could be for all three.

Then they heard the noise. Conversation. Voices from dozens of throats. The rapping of metal on ceramic and the clack of wood being cut and piled and fashioned. All eyes focused on the fang leaders...

Razkar was gratified to see Rehkuna act first. She raised her muscled arm, hand a fist... and then opened it, thumb curving on one side, index finger curving the other way. Like a semi-circle.

Which was exactly the order: form a line and advance, making a half circle around the humans. Razkar felt a thrill of anticipation. It was a combat manouvere, an ambush tactic against a static enemy. Meaning they had found their trespassers, and soon would wreak Myri's vengeance.

Without a word spoken or barely a sound, the eighteen savages lowered themselves into crouched and started to spread out into a single line nearly two hundred yards wide. Then they began to advance. Razkar had learned that the thick, choking foliage of Falyndar was a major advantage for his people in contact. Vines and shrubbery and moss and all manner of plant matter was thick and high on the jungle floor. Not nearly as tall as the grasslands of Cyphrus, as he would discover in years to come, but with a low stance, sensible and patient stealth and practical use of ones terrain, a force of Myrians could advance on an enemy without garnering any attention.

Which is exactly what they did.

For what seemed like bells they crept towards their target. A rough line of Myrian warriors, most with bows held ready, arrows notched and strings pulled tight if not taut. Every footfall was measured and careful, all cover was used. Razkar was proud of his fang that day: they must have moved three hundred yards, and did so while hardly breaking a twig or disturbing a leaf.

Tinnok was at his right, and was... almost as good. Pride for his own fang prevented him from giving her more than that.

In time they came to Rehkuna and Ioxera, crouched down behind a fallen tree trunk and staring over its rim. Well, Razkar did: Oxil and Tinnok were ten yards to his left and right respectively. He was fortunate enough to be next to the commanders, and heard their whispered words.

"What does it look like to you?"

Razkar peered over slowly and regarded the human force. Within moments he knew they outnumbered their own two or three times over, but at a glance he could tell that hardly half that were warriors as Myrians knew them. Hunting knives and bows were with most, not swords or armor. A clutch of dogs was tied up around a camp fire in the clearing the humans had chosen, and a half-dozen men were working on gutting a pair of deer.

But there were others of more martial intent. They wore armor, had real weapons, and their eyes were focused outward to the savage jungle, not to the safety of their own. A rough ring of guards, watching but, so far, not seeing...

Ioxera spat on the ground, eyes not leaving the encampment.

"Looks like hunters."

"With warriors? And why would the humans come here to hunt?"

"Perhaps pickings are slim in their own lands. Or jungles teem with game." Then her eyes narrowed as another, more reprehensible thought came to mind. "Or... perhaps a scouting party. Finding a lay of the land for a larger expedition. Small enough to move swiftly, large enough to protect and sustain itself..."

The thought settled and festered in the minds of the three silent Myrians. Humans, scouting in Falyndar? Such a thing was nearly unthinkable, and Razkar half-hoped that Ioxera's hypothesis was wrong. But only half: humans were a tenacious and challenging enemy, and Myri's children always needed that...

Rehkuna finally shook her head, dispelling any further discussion.

"Whatever their purpose, they die here. They have trespassed in our lands, and cannot be allowed to return with what they have stolen or learned. The lesson must be taught."

Nods answered her, as if Rehkuna cared what he rival or underling thought. She licked her lips and glanced over at the encampment once again. Eyes far keener and experienced than Razkar's took in every detail. The crossbows carried by some warriors. The dogs. The hunters. The layout of the group...

"Finish the Horns," she said, using the proper name for their semi-circle ambush tactic, "And target the warriors and dogs first. Two volleys should take down most of them and be quick enough to still give us the element of surprise. Then we move in close and fast and wipe out what's left."

"And the back door?"

That came from Razkar, and both fang leader's turned to regard him. The male couldn't have looked more sheepish if he tried, but he had a valid point. The Horns blocked off three directions, but left a long, open avenue of escape. The Myrians would have to work with haste to ensure that their prey did not bolt into the jungle.

But what hope would they have in there? Well... more than further south. The norther border was only a couple of bells away, and if any fleeing survivors crossed the harsh jungle in that time, they would bring word of the massacre and whatever valuable intelligence they had learned.

And Razkar knew that their aim was not only annihilation, but censorship. The humans must not know of their jungles, their terrain or their routes. Falyndar, he had learned in his classes, was a fearful enigma to the rest of the world. The Goddess-Queen wanted to keep it that way, for what worthy warrior would assault a place they knew nothing of.

None must escape.

Rehkuna turned to Ioxera, authority in her voice that brooked no argument.

"Mark three of yours to pursue any who escape the ambush, if the humans manage it. I will do the same, starting with Razkar."

"Agreed."

Rehkuna turned back to Razkar and nodded sharply.

"Good point, boy. Finish getting into position and wait for the signal."

The male nodded back and continued advancing. They were barely a hundred yards now, well within bow range. Razkar felt his heart beat faster and a faint, almost undetectable resonance in his bones. Battle was close, and the glorious, crimson release that it came with.

He crept forwards, rest of their fangs already in position, and waited for the call to attack...

[Tinnok]

She spread out into the fan of beings as they moved across the jungle surface, steps slow and cautious. She could have laughed at Razkar’s attempt at stealth, he was quiet she supposed, but honestly you’d think a being who had such skill with a gladius would be a bit more wary of where he put his feet. Her eyebrow raised more than once as he moved along, but she merely shook her head as they moved. Can’t be good at everything. It was slow going but Tinnok appreciated this time to hone a skill that came entirely separate of combat. There was something utterly satisfying about creeping through the undergrowth and knowing that the person beside you wouldn’t be able to detect you lest they looked. There were plenty of opportunities to make noise in a place that was simply overrun with greenery, and she smiled a bit to herself at the challenge it posed. It was much like a game, and one of the few one’s she had been able to win as a child. She could never seem to sneak by her observant mother, but one by one she had outmatched her siblings and others of their clan. The Tempered Steel favored brawn and strength over quiet agility, but Tinnok would take her victories where she could get them, and so she did as they passed silently over the soft soil, body arched like a cat as she crept forward.

She heard the snuffling of the dogs. They were the problem for her because they would smell and hear the Myrians before any human could; Best to take them out quickly and be done with it. One position over from Razkar, she couldn’t hear the leaders discussing. She pursed her lips, feeling a twinge of pain, but didn’t make a move that would compromise the formation that their two groups had made. Tinnok’s yellow eyes flickered back and forth from the women to the noises that came from the clearing ahead. She saw Razkar contribute a tidbit and her eyes narrowed. Whatever it was it seemed to have been welcomed by the females, for there was a nod of approval and more whispers. Tinnok twitched when she heard a dog bark, body tensing. It was followed by growling and the sounds of two canine’s tussling and her body relaxed somewhat. Then the women began moving and Razkar with them. Ioxera’s dark gaze met Tinnok’s and gestured her over. Taking her time due to their proximity, the half-breed cautiously picked her way over the undergrowth, arriving in front of her leader. Ioxera bent in close. “Alright snake breath, grab Hiteo and Grist and make your way around the outside, I want you three to be there when we strike to catch anyone craven or foolish enough to try to escape through the mouth of our attack, got it?” Tinnok nodded. “When you’re in position give the signal and we’ll begin the attack.”

There was a certain weight of having the call to begin the decimation these groups would deliver put upon her shoulders. Tinnok crept swiftly, bent over through the troops tapping her comrade’s shoulders and relaying the instructions. Though glares were drilled into her, now was not the time for trouble or games and they followed behind her as the half-breed made her way around the ranks. As they left, others sank into their positions, keeping the pincer formation in tact.

She caught glimpse of what awaited her and smiled. Outnumbered, but not outmatched. She also caught sight of the dogs, a great variety of them too. A few seemed to be Akinva Deerstalkers, but there were Elk Hunters and even the proficient Deep woods tracking dogs as well. Whatever these people were here for, it was a hunt and they were serious about it. Balls of her feet hit the ground first, evenly distributing weight so as not to make any sudden movements or sounds that would alert the camp. She was at the edge of her comrades when she made the whistle, the lilting mating call of a painted woodpecker, the tones gyrating up and down. Just as the sound halted in her throat the dog’s ears perked up in the clearing, and a few of the more stolidly armed men turned their gazes towards her. Not for long, however, for suddenly a rain of arrows poured down from above. Tinnok smiled, pulling her bowstring up across her face, aiming for the center of the seething mass of humans before letting it fly. Once it had snapped from her grasp she gestured to her companions, allowing them to send off their shots before making a mad sprint along the lines. They needed to cover that opening.

[Razkar]

Razkar had read scrolls and books regaling him of ancient battles where there were so many archers on the field that they blotted the sun with showers of arrows. Under the canopy of Falyndar there was little sun to block, but Razkar would think afterwards that majestic as the image was, it did not do the speed of the arrows justice.

And that is what he would remember. The speed of them.

The low whistle was the signal to the twenty or so Myrians who had bows to let loose, and they did. Razkar was already tracking a snuffling canine - broad, squat, with a flat head and a perverse interest in its own rear - when he heard it. He sighted along the arrow, pulled back, took a breath... and let fly.

A blink. That's all it took, for almost every arrow. Enough time for your eyelids to flicker down and then back up again.

By the time they did, there were dead or dying humans laying or screeching on the ground. And dogs.

Razkar's target caught his arrow in the hind legs. Not where he'd aimed, but good enough: he wouldn't be chasing anyone down soon. Another pair of shaggy mongrels were struck by other arrows, flailing and whining pitifully, the rest going beserk with growls and barks that shook through the air.

Razkar ignored it. Two volleys, that was the order, and all must obey. He notched a fresh arrow, aimed it at an armor-wearing human whose spear was now held ready, but without a target, eyes craning around desperately for one-

-until Razkar's arrow slammed into his gut, low and vicious, and sent him reeling backwards.

"FOR MYRI!"

The cry went up from Rehkuna's throat and with a crescendo of screams and whoops and roars, two dozen dark-skinned savages poured from the foliage and streamed towards the stunned and bloodied humans. A third of them, maybe more, were already down, writhing in death agonies or hobbling with arrow shafts sticking out of them. That was the thing with arrows: unless you hit a vital organ, they didn't kill your enemy instantly. Adrenaline, rage, desperation, whatever you like, they kept him fighting on.

Crossbows, however...

Razkar snarled as he ran, shoving his bow across his back and unlimbering his hand ax. He had studied the human weapon with the instructors at the barracks. They were strange and overly-complex to his eyes, named for their shape, he supposed. Their range was half that of a bow and they took forever to reload. But the power they afforded their wielder compensated.

And the humans here had them.

With deeper twangs than the Myrians' bows, almost mechanical-sounding, a half-dozen humans returned fire at the charging savages. They only had a hundred yards to cover but that was perfect range for a crossbow. Razkar howled in outrage as he saw one of his people catch a bolt through the chest, short but powerful projectile smashing straight through her breastplate and knocking how down in mid-sprint.

Instantly his eyes focused on the human who had fired, a ruddy-faced man with the straggly red facial hair that he knew many humans had. He was already struggling to reload, bow facing down, foot holding it there while he yanked the bowstring back up-

-only for his head to jerk up as the screaming Razkar bore down on him.

"BASTARD!"

Razkar swung his ax diagonally and the human jerked up his crossbow to block it, sharpened steel biting into burnished wood. The impact of the Myrians' blow knocked him backwards, Razkar wrenching his weapon free and hacking lower, horizontally-

-slicing through the human's left kneecap.

With an ungodly shriek the human collapsed, blood spurting from his wound, gleaming bone poking out the gash Razkar had made, useless bow tumbling from his hands as they scrambled for his dagger, or his knee, it was like he couldn't decide-

With a snarl Razkar raised his ax again and buried it in the man's face, ending the debate. Then he wrenched it free and turned his attention back to the flailing, crawling figure he'd impaled with an arrow less than a chime ago. He walked swiftly over and split his head in two with his ax, ending his agony.

The corpse still twitched after Razkar turned his back.

It was definitely what other worlds would call a "target-rich environment". One of the unarmored humans lunged at him with a spear. He sidestepped to his left and swung his hand ax to his right, knocking the spear away and closing on the human from the side-

-unsheathing his gladius with his left hand-

-and thrusting it into the man's guts.

They were nose to nose when he ran him through, the spearman's eyes bulging open in terror and disbelief. Then Razkar jerked his blade up a few inches, and only pain was in those watery orbs. He pulled his weapon free and a tide of ropy innards tumbled over the human's feet. He stared at them as he sank to his knees, trembling hands trying to push them back in-

Razkar's ax opened his throat to the bone before he had a chance to try.

All around him similar scenes of slaughter were playing out across the clearing. Myrians and humans clashed together over and over, steel and wood and flesh meeting and hacking and struggling against each other. Many of the humans tried to run, most cut down before they got far. More tried to fight, hunter and warrior alike, knowing they were surrounded and surprised and that the only thing the Myrians would give them was death.

They wouldn't take prisoners. They never did.

Razkar craned his head around quickly and a dozen snapshots registered in a blink.

Oxil slashed across the arm only to retaliate by crushing his attacker's foot with his mace. The human went hopping back and an enrage, bellowing Oxil reared up and damn-near knocked half his skull away with his next blow.

Rehkuna flew into the maelstrom with her gladii flying, a terrible and awesome sight to behold as she hacked off arms, ran through torsos, sliced open throats and parried blows all in the same whirl.

Ioxera was close behind her and gaining, Tskanna horn mace singing through the air over and over, a torrent of blood and hair-clotted flesh flying with every stroke.

He saw horror for his own kind, too. A Myrian female shrieking and fighting as two dogs took her down, ripping her open with those fearsome jaws until another two hacked the snarling animals apart with their teeth still in her flesh.

A hulking human who slashed a charging Myrian male clean in two with a double-handed sword fully five feet long, splattering guts and blood over the pristine green foliage. Then two arrows thudded into his back and another dark blur ripped his throat open with a dagger.

But not before he collapsed on his killer, bearing him down with a roar even as he died.

Chaos. Slaughter. Butchery. Razkar's first real taste of it since he had joined the army, and now he was ankle-deep in blood, sticky crimson splattered on his face and torso and weapons pleading through his hands to be swung again.

He had never felt so...

Destined.

A scream more of fear than battle lust bought him back to reality, and he turned in time to see a hunter charge at him with a bastard sword. Razkar jerked up his gladius and parried the blow, but the human had speed and strength born of terror and desperation, striking again, and again, driving him back, and back, thrusting for his gut-

-Razkar knocked the sword away and to the side, then used the opening to slam his boot into the man's groin. The human's eyes nearly popped out of his head as he doubled over, testicle suddenly in his pelvis.

Razkar didn't give him time to dwell on it, slashed open his chest with his gladius and then sent him spinning away and down with a blow from his gladius.

Focus, boy!

The voice sounded like a combination of Rehkuna, Herliz and Razkar's mother; more than enough to get him moving again. Slaughter was not his purpose in this battle, not solely. He had to close the back door.

"Zuran! Oxil!" He roared, already running again through the mass of fighting figures, heading for the open side of their trap. "To me!"

[Tinnok]

Just as she suspected, the dogs caught wind of her position before the humans even had a chance to react. She let out the second wave of arrows, the second sinking into the joint of a hunters leg just under the knee cap, watching with a small smile of satisfaction as he collapsed to the ground. She had been aiming for his lower back...but that would do.

Her eyes flashed across the scene unfolding. Her comrades had surprise and viciousness on their side. From her vantage point she could get a good scope of the field, and she liked what she saw. The white's of their enemies eyes were the last thing to be exposed before genitals and guts spilled out from their bodies, jugulars sliced and stabbed, necks cracked and broken. One of the massive elk dogs came charging towards her and one of her arrows flew wide of her target. Cursing she dropped the bow and took out her dagger, legs splayed apart as it leapt into the air like a tiger. She sidestepped the jump in order to avoid the full brunt of the canine's weight knife cutting the beast from neck to navel as it passed by her. It landed clumsily, with a yelp of pain, and the half-breed took one long stride and plunged the dagger into its neck, whispering a prayer to Caiyha. Domesticated or not these beast belonged in her domain, and it wasn't the poor blighters fault he had picked the wrong side.

She turned back to battle to see an entirely new side of things as crossbows came out and began hammering their ranks. Body stooped to gather her bow, arrows focused on the long distance wielding human's a scowl on her face as she aimed. As overseer of the battle, Tinnok felt this nearly motherly desire to ensure that she viciously cut down the opposition that was tearing apart her troops. She snickered to herself at her own audacity, but the inherent confidence seemed to serve her well as her first arrow sank deep into the neck of one of the crossbowmen, weapon dropping as fingers waved uselessly next to the wound.

The tide of battle was turning. Well technically the tide of battle had been more of a tidal wave, bound to break up a bit on rocks and debris, but simply inevitable in reaching the shoreline where it would reach its final conclusion: Their victory. She could see the fear and panic in their faces, and her tongue shot out, wishing, if only for a moment, that she had the ability to taste fear, for she imagined it was a sweet thing. Bow was slung over her shoulder as she sprinted through the woods towards the gradually retreating forces. One dagger was thrown through the air, sticking into the side of one of less armored humans that was clearly trying to flee. Her gaze was filled with disgust when one dirty bare foot bore down upon his neck, hands grabbing his shiny face and snapping his neck in one clean motion. That was when the Deepwoods dog knocked her off of her feet and sank its teeth into her shoulder.

She should have heard the howl as it went to avenge its master, as it was she gave an answering howl of pain. The dog was a massive female, a tawny brown with black muzzle and ears, and death hung in iher gaze, the dull need for revenge when it was already too late. Claws sank into her chest, and the mouth released her flesh for a moment only to prepare for the next assault. That was when an arrow sunk into her shoulder and the dog cried out, the force of the blow sending her rolling off of the half-breed. Tinnok scrambled off the ground and lunged onto the animal, pinning its neck down so that it's mouth movements were utterly futile, dagger poised to strike it much in the same way as the elk dog prior.

Her eyes glanced up, taking stock of her comrades sprinting across the forest or shooting down any who attempted to escape. She heard the low moans of pain from their enemy as well as allies emanating from the battlefield, then looked back down at the dog, whose actions had stopped, perhaps in resignation. Someone approached her, she could feel their shadow over her. They said nothing, but she could feel the weight of the silence just as loud as any shout. Finish it.

But the spark of an idea had formed and the snake couldn't let it go. She stood instead and released her hold on the dog. It leapt up with a whine, the arrow still lodged in it's shoulder, and she took a step back, realizing the being next to her was Razkar. His eyes were narrowed, the arm holding his axe ready to cut the canine down at any moment. Tinnok raised her hand to hold him for a moment, then got down on all fours with the dog. It snarled and snapped at her, tired, angry, and hurt. She snapped back, eyes fiery. When it lunged forward so did she, and the two rolled on the ground as canine and snake, growling, snarling and clawing each other. Tinnok gained momentary superiority, but the creature kicked her viciously in the face with a back leg and then leapt upon her. Tinnok hissed. The dog growled. Then the half breed surged forward, mouth open and put the whole front of the dog's muzzle into her mouth, biting hard and boxing the creature roughly on the head. She shoved the canine away in one bodily thrust, throwing it to the ground, then rose a second time, brushing the dirt off her being and standing over the canine. She glanced around hesitantly, realizing a small audience had formed as the last of their enemy had been cut down.

Her hand was raised again, she could see her brethren clearly wanted to kill the beast, but after that bizarre display, there was clearly some confusion to be had as to what reaction they should have. Ioxera charged out of the brush, fire in her eyes as she approached her recruit, but still Tinnok's hand stopped her, even if just for a moment. The dog rose shakily off the ground, and Tinnok gave another snarl, threatening postures shown as she walked toward the creature. But this dog was different from the one that had leapt upon her. Her ears were back, her tail was placed neatly between her legs, and when she approached Tinnok, eyes made sure not to attempt any eye contact. The half-breed stared for a moment at the prostrated dog, swearing fealty to her in that moment, then dipped low and tapped her nose on top of the dog's wet snout, completing her acceptance into an altogether new pack. She then looked up. "We can use her to find the others." It all she gave in way of explanation, but then again, the snake wasn't much for words. Ioxera looked somewhere between pride and shouting, and the tigress who had emerged just had disgust on her face when she spoke, addressing the loose circle that had formed around the half-breed and the dog. "You think you earned a break, soldiers? Strip the camp and see if you can find anything useful, we move on in half a bell."

Tinnok let out a breath of relief as eyes changed direction and began walking slowly back towards the camp, the dog following tightly behind her. She glanced over at Razkar and gave an inclination of the head. He had fought well, not that she expected anything less.