7th Day of Winter, 511AV
Outskirts of Taloba
8th Bell
There was a simplicity here that Razkar had always and would always love. All politics and philosophies, even moral justifications, were left behind once the grass and stone receded and all was choking jungle. All other concerns were stripped away as the trappings of civilization fell away to wilderness.
Nothing but predator and prey. Hunter and hunted.
But they paled in comparison to the hunt itself.
Sounds assailed him, some soft, some loud. The distant calls of jungle birds, high in the canopy. Some harsher, closer to him. The crunch of his feet on dry leaves of fresh, weeping vines. The awesome rush of wind through the endless green, first faraway and indistinct, then shaking the trees and leaves around him with the casual ease only the gods could command. The feel of the wooden shortbow in his hands, smooth and carved wood reassuring, arrow notches by string not taut... patient, and waiting...
Five other shadows crept forwards on either side of him. Five others of his fang, half their number, covering a two hundred yards or so. It was meant to be a line, but the debris-strewn nature of the Jungle made such uniformity difficult if not impossible. They were keen, though, eyes always moving, ears cocked.
They were not just hunting. They were training.
They were the mouth of the jaw.
A flash of movement ahead of them; something large and suddenly still. A moment later a bird call screeched out from behind the shape. As one unit, Razkar and his five comrades froze. They knew that call. It was not from a bird of this region... it was a signal. They all knew what it meant.
Prey sighted.
They waited, fingers tense and caressing their bows... impatience blossomed as moments dripped by, Razkar baring his teeth-
Another call. Ending in a low, keening, almost-savage bark.
Close the jaws.
And at once, the jungle behind the animal erupted. Half-a-dozen screaming, howling Myrian warriors, stripped down to their loincloths and wielding spears and blowpipes and bows, burst forth from cover and charged towards it. But around it, also. Razkar could see even now that they moved not in a line, but a rough half-circle, giving the beast no angle to escape to its sides or front.
Forcing it. Herding it.
Towards them. The bottom jaws. Those honored with striking the killing blows.
The high-pitched squeal of surprise told Razkar that it was a wild boar, even as he raised his bow and drew back the arrow. A minor mountain of lichen-infested fur, a rough head marked by burning little eyes and curved tusks, running headlong away from one threat-
-and straight into another.
"Now!"
Six arrows were loosed at the shouted command. Those from the side were cursed with a sideways-moving target, a difficult shot. Razkar and three others were nearer the center, but even with a clearer shot... Razkar felt the tremor of fear, seeing the enraged beast crashing through the undergrowth.
Still he fired. He was a Child of Myri, a warrior of the army of Taloba. And this was their jungle.
Six arrows flashed through the humid air. Two missed. Four hit their mark.
The squeal became one of agony and the boar faltered. Four spikes of painful wood speared it through leg and neck and chest, and its charge ended as its leg collapsed and it smashed into the ground-
"Again!"
Fresh arrows were notched, and a second volley repeatedly impaled the squealing, doomed creature. This time, none missed, and Razkar saw its trembling and thrashing cease in a rush of blood. Arrows pierced its head and neck... and he knew what had to be finished.
Moving swiftly and in silence, he lowered his bow and drew his gladius. Face set but eyes shining, he walked to the frothing, dying animal... and then he spoke his words both to it, and the spirits watching them all.
"Go from this world, brother," he whispered, raising the gladius, "And find peace in the next world."
The gladius came down, and the jaws snapped shut.
----------
The Barracks were home to them all after years from their clans, and returning with a massive bounty like the boar made Razkar's heart swell like it did when he had done the same for his own clan. Other fangs looked on with a mix of jealousy and grudging respect.
Razkar saw one of them, a stocky female named Riye, step forwards and jerk her head towards their prize.
"How did you manage to bring that thing down?"
Razkar ignored the implied barb and cocked an eyebrow. "We clamped our jaw on him."
Riye nodded slowly. Ah, an old Myrian strategy. Driving the enemy where you wanted, putting fear and confusion in them... then striking with the rest of your force from the opposite direction. Like great, grinning jaws. Hunting expeditions were but one means of practicing this.
"Your envy is writ large, child," the Fang Leader herself said over her shoulder, not slowing as she led her fang back home, "Go train, and seek not secrets from those already accomplished."
A chorus of laughs barked from hr fang and Riye stiffened as if struck by a stiff breeze, but dared not retort. No-one dared jape with Rehkuna, save Fang Leaders of her own experience and ferocity. Razkar gave her a smirk as he passed, and soon they were in the training yard where their beast would become feast, and-
And there was someone else there. Someone whose very presence commanded Rehkuna to drop to one knee, her fang following in one swift motion behind her.
Kreesha, general of Myri, cold and hard as granite despite her skin the color of a lustrous jungle, regarded them all in a single gaze. Razkar was taken by her beauty, as he always was when he saw her, but knew that it was the beauty of a fine blade or a well-wielded weapon. Kreesha was prime among the generals of the Taloba army, and in two decades of war on the behalf of the Goddess-Queen, she had rarely lost a battle. Her flawless skin was a testament to that skill.
Dozens, scores, hundreds of duels and battles, but hardly a scar... what does that tell you?
"Mistress Kreesha," Rehkuna finally said, in a tone of respect he hardly heard her use for anyone else. "You grace us with your presence."
"I am not here for the pig." Kreesha spoke with characteristic bluntness, extending a thin scroll to the Fang Leader. "We have received word from the south-west, fresh from the Roost. Your fang is being sent with two others to meet a new threat."
Rehkuna's eyes snapped to her superior, bright with bloody anticipation. Her fang followed suit, dogs of war eager at the promise of combat and practically straining at the leash. Razkar's hands fell out of instinct to the ax and gladius at his belt, every inch of him focused on the words to come.
"What threat, mistress?"
And when he heard them, spat out with disgust and hatred, something older and partly-buried in his soul ripped itself free from shadow and grieving memory. It came before his mind and roared with joyous, savage thanks to the Goddess-Queen, for planting before him the enemy that had grieved him most of all.
"Earth Demons."
Outskirts of Taloba
8th Bell
There was a simplicity here that Razkar had always and would always love. All politics and philosophies, even moral justifications, were left behind once the grass and stone receded and all was choking jungle. All other concerns were stripped away as the trappings of civilization fell away to wilderness.
Nothing but predator and prey. Hunter and hunted.
But they paled in comparison to the hunt itself.
Sounds assailed him, some soft, some loud. The distant calls of jungle birds, high in the canopy. Some harsher, closer to him. The crunch of his feet on dry leaves of fresh, weeping vines. The awesome rush of wind through the endless green, first faraway and indistinct, then shaking the trees and leaves around him with the casual ease only the gods could command. The feel of the wooden shortbow in his hands, smooth and carved wood reassuring, arrow notches by string not taut... patient, and waiting...
Five other shadows crept forwards on either side of him. Five others of his fang, half their number, covering a two hundred yards or so. It was meant to be a line, but the debris-strewn nature of the Jungle made such uniformity difficult if not impossible. They were keen, though, eyes always moving, ears cocked.
They were not just hunting. They were training.
They were the mouth of the jaw.
A flash of movement ahead of them; something large and suddenly still. A moment later a bird call screeched out from behind the shape. As one unit, Razkar and his five comrades froze. They knew that call. It was not from a bird of this region... it was a signal. They all knew what it meant.
Prey sighted.
They waited, fingers tense and caressing their bows... impatience blossomed as moments dripped by, Razkar baring his teeth-
Another call. Ending in a low, keening, almost-savage bark.
Close the jaws.
And at once, the jungle behind the animal erupted. Half-a-dozen screaming, howling Myrian warriors, stripped down to their loincloths and wielding spears and blowpipes and bows, burst forth from cover and charged towards it. But around it, also. Razkar could see even now that they moved not in a line, but a rough half-circle, giving the beast no angle to escape to its sides or front.
Forcing it. Herding it.
Towards them. The bottom jaws. Those honored with striking the killing blows.
The high-pitched squeal of surprise told Razkar that it was a wild boar, even as he raised his bow and drew back the arrow. A minor mountain of lichen-infested fur, a rough head marked by burning little eyes and curved tusks, running headlong away from one threat-
-and straight into another.
"Now!"
Six arrows were loosed at the shouted command. Those from the side were cursed with a sideways-moving target, a difficult shot. Razkar and three others were nearer the center, but even with a clearer shot... Razkar felt the tremor of fear, seeing the enraged beast crashing through the undergrowth.
Still he fired. He was a Child of Myri, a warrior of the army of Taloba. And this was their jungle.
Six arrows flashed through the humid air. Two missed. Four hit their mark.
The squeal became one of agony and the boar faltered. Four spikes of painful wood speared it through leg and neck and chest, and its charge ended as its leg collapsed and it smashed into the ground-
"Again!"
Fresh arrows were notched, and a second volley repeatedly impaled the squealing, doomed creature. This time, none missed, and Razkar saw its trembling and thrashing cease in a rush of blood. Arrows pierced its head and neck... and he knew what had to be finished.
Moving swiftly and in silence, he lowered his bow and drew his gladius. Face set but eyes shining, he walked to the frothing, dying animal... and then he spoke his words both to it, and the spirits watching them all.
"Go from this world, brother," he whispered, raising the gladius, "And find peace in the next world."
The gladius came down, and the jaws snapped shut.
----------
The Barracks were home to them all after years from their clans, and returning with a massive bounty like the boar made Razkar's heart swell like it did when he had done the same for his own clan. Other fangs looked on with a mix of jealousy and grudging respect.
Razkar saw one of them, a stocky female named Riye, step forwards and jerk her head towards their prize.
"How did you manage to bring that thing down?"
Razkar ignored the implied barb and cocked an eyebrow. "We clamped our jaw on him."
Riye nodded slowly. Ah, an old Myrian strategy. Driving the enemy where you wanted, putting fear and confusion in them... then striking with the rest of your force from the opposite direction. Like great, grinning jaws. Hunting expeditions were but one means of practicing this.
"Your envy is writ large, child," the Fang Leader herself said over her shoulder, not slowing as she led her fang back home, "Go train, and seek not secrets from those already accomplished."
A chorus of laughs barked from hr fang and Riye stiffened as if struck by a stiff breeze, but dared not retort. No-one dared jape with Rehkuna, save Fang Leaders of her own experience and ferocity. Razkar gave her a smirk as he passed, and soon they were in the training yard where their beast would become feast, and-
And there was someone else there. Someone whose very presence commanded Rehkuna to drop to one knee, her fang following in one swift motion behind her.
Kreesha, general of Myri, cold and hard as granite despite her skin the color of a lustrous jungle, regarded them all in a single gaze. Razkar was taken by her beauty, as he always was when he saw her, but knew that it was the beauty of a fine blade or a well-wielded weapon. Kreesha was prime among the generals of the Taloba army, and in two decades of war on the behalf of the Goddess-Queen, she had rarely lost a battle. Her flawless skin was a testament to that skill.
Dozens, scores, hundreds of duels and battles, but hardly a scar... what does that tell you?
"Mistress Kreesha," Rehkuna finally said, in a tone of respect he hardly heard her use for anyone else. "You grace us with your presence."
"I am not here for the pig." Kreesha spoke with characteristic bluntness, extending a thin scroll to the Fang Leader. "We have received word from the south-west, fresh from the Roost. Your fang is being sent with two others to meet a new threat."
Rehkuna's eyes snapped to her superior, bright with bloody anticipation. Her fang followed suit, dogs of war eager at the promise of combat and practically straining at the leash. Razkar's hands fell out of instinct to the ax and gladius at his belt, every inch of him focused on the words to come.
"What threat, mistress?"
And when he heard them, spat out with disgust and hatred, something older and partly-buried in his soul ripped itself free from shadow and grieving memory. It came before his mind and roared with joyous, savage thanks to the Goddess-Queen, for planting before him the enemy that had grieved him most of all.
"Earth Demons."
