Closed And Not To Yield (Edreina)

[Razkar]

65th Day of Fall, 513AV
Mirahil Pass
13th Bell

The buck was old enough to know that the trees were about to sleep. The wind would shake the fur from their hard skin, and then they would cease to whisper to him and his little herd until the sky became warm again. He knew this would mean food would be less, also. The grass and berries would leave, too. The water would harden and they would need to find warmth every day...

But that was not his only concern. He knew when the trees lost their skin, he lost his places to hide. When the humans approached, with their sharp sticks that flew and traps like wire he couldn't bite through, he would see them... but they would see him.

The buck didn't have emotions as you or I would recognize them, but fear and panic are common in every creature that can conceive death, or simply the endless void that comes from a failure to live.

The buck feared for his young ones, who were unsteady on their feet. He feared for his does, for there weren't many other bucks to protect them, and damnit, he'd fought hard for the right to them, anyway!

But an animal needed to eat, and the pond was close, so he went. He flitted through cover on feet that made no sounds, senses sharp and alert to a whisper across a hundred feet, the slightest shifting of dirt under feet, breaking branches... he heard nothing...

The water that collected in the craggy stretch of stone looked so inviting. Beyond the limits of Zeltiva, far higher than the winding human-run that was the Kabrin Road, this was as safe as the buck could hope for. He approached it... graceful... steady... long, thin tongue flicking out as if in anticipation...

The hunter watched without moving from his hide. His arms were stiff and cramping, but they hadn't moved for bells. Beneath the camouflaged tarp they'd both coated with mud and grass, the two of them had tried, as his mother always said, "to be like a tree in the forest, or a stone in the river. Never moving. Never speaking. But seeing... everything. And eventually, if you're good enough, everything there will start seeing you as that, too..."

Of course, more had gone into that. For a bell just after sunrise they'd traipsed up the Pass and searched for tracks, runs, droppings, markings, anything to point them in the direction of prey or confirm their presence. Then it had been finding the pond, a water source... then a firing position, somewhere that commanded a view and granted them a clear shot.

Then their hide. A simple, ten-foot-long banner that had been smeared with mud and leaves and grass and, yes, dung where they'd found it.

The two of them had sat, crouched, with an arrow notched in their single bow... waiting... warmed and comforted by each other... as the sounds of the caravan trains on the Kabrin drifted up to them like recent memories...

Razkar patted Edreina on the arm, barely moving it to do so. She had the bow and arrow in her hand, only needing to raise and fire it. As inexperienced as she was with the bow, one would imagine he would take over this duty. A wasted shot could be the difference between a good meal and starvation, after all... but that was for those without gold in their purse.

The Myrian grinnned minutely in pride. And after our mutual performances at the Knuckle Club, gold will not be an issue for us... however...

He winced again. Wounds were still healing, flesh tender and protesting this abominable strain, away from the bed and rest they longed for. But this was the last day before the Calypso sailed for Sunberth, and Razkar could not resist one more hunt.

He exhaled nearly entirely, to avoid the telltale hiss of his whisper that the buck might hear, tracking it with his eyes. He made it...

"... fifty feet... maybe a little more... raise... draw... aim... fire... when you are ready." There was the tiniest squeeze on her arm; warm, callused flesh that told her with simple pressure what a sonnet may encompass. "You will do fine... just remember what you have been taught..."

[Edreina]

OOCSorry for any issues. Typing with a migraine isn't the smartest thing... xD

Her legs burned. Her arse burned. Her arms burned.

Sitting still for long periods of time did not suit the tide. Despite the chilled air, she wore no more than her normal which was, of course, little. Pants that were leather everywhere save for between her legs and down to her knees - that much was cotton to make it easier for her to move - had protected her legs from a majority of the various reaching, clawing plants they had strode through on their quest for game. But, her forearms bore thin, red, irritated lines from pushing through the various shrubbery of the wood. Glinting, fiery hair was bound close to her head by a faded yellow bandanna after being woven into a braid so that only the most stubborn, ornery strands still flowed free, curling in the breeze and tickling her nose.

The most entertaining part of the day had been disguising their hide with mud and sticks and leaves - Edreina had attempted to pretend that the dung they used was just especially aromatic dirt. But now, they were back to boring boring boring. Hunting itself was boring. This was nothing like standing on the edge of a ship with a net, watching the dancing silver sides of schools of fish as they moved mindlessly beneath the waves. Hunting was almost as bad as fishing. But, this time she had at least been able to help decorate their hiding place; one did not exactly decorate their boat before fishing.

Her mind had started to wander again when she felt the hard callouses of Razkar's hand upon her arm. The dirt ground against itself as she jolted in surprise, face darkening as blood rushed to her freckled cheeks, warming them. The hand resting upon the bow's string gestured faintly, signing her apology for such a lapse.

But, his eyes were not on her. The forest and what lay beyond had claimed his gaze. The steady thud-thud-thud of her heart quickened with the realization that this was not another reminder to be vigilant. The time had come.

Just beyond a cluster of brown-barked pillars, Edreina saw a lithe figure weaving through the underbrush. He was much larger than she had expected; skins and already-butchered meat did a buck justice. But, then again, Edreina knew nothing of The Rut nor the effects it had on a buck's anatomy. She thought that such bulk would move with clodding, graceless steps but the creature moved upon silent stilts. With its crowned head lowered, it carefully chose each step and snuffled quietly for food. That was all she heard, really, the quiet intake of breath that was neither human nor wind; it was too strong to be a smaller animal. As Razkar spoke, she quietly devoted each sign to memory as she had his notes on tracks earlier that day.

Just as the gentle squeeze on her arm spoke volumes, so did the brush of her knuckles over his and the smile that flew upon nervous wings towards him even as her face was turning again to their target.

The buck had stopped now and was munching heartily upon a clump of grass. She raised the bow, forcing her breathing to slow and her heart to calm as she centered herself. Her eyes left the buck for a fraction of a second as she aligned he arrow atop her finger. When she returned her eyes to the buck, she discovered with a start that it had changed position entirely, turning to look at something that had been behind him.

She felt rushed, frightened by the concept of failing before her mentor. The huntress knew that they did not need the meat to live as others would, but it still meant so much that Razkar trusted her enough to try this. The problem was that she did not entirely trust herself, for good reason. Very aware of her lack of skill, the Svefra was. And so she panicked to some degree. She inhaled slowly, drawing the bowstring back until its fletching reached the corner of her mouth. Already, her arms and her back screamed at the strange strain but strength hard earned by years of swimming allowed her to perform the task.

One eye drifted shut and the other squinted as she sighted down the shaft of the arrow. She knew to compensate for distance and for wind, but the actual application of knowing what to do was still a step beyond her. She aimed for the meatiest part of the buck, its torso, hoping to at least bloody it enough to be weakened and to leave a good trail for them to track. That was all that Razkar expected of her at this point. Spending a day following a blood trail would only add to their knowledge and aid in creating two well-rounded beings.

On the exhale, she opened her fingers and released the string, careful to refrain from moving her hand until the arrow was whistling through the air.

The buck screamed and thrashed in place for a second before bunching its powerful hind quarters and taking off into the wood. "Shyke..." In that instant, Edreina had clearly seen the arrow graze the front of the buck's rear legs, probably nicking its hide but proving to be otherwise useless. "I'm sorry," the sigh was disappointed but not defeated. That the arrow even went in the right direction was a feat for one with so little skill. Bow still clutched in her pale fingers, as if they had forgotten what it was like to be without, she sank back onto her rump with a huff, body listing out each and every ache accumulated in her time waiting.

After a tick of silence, she turned to the Myrian, wiping her brow surreptitiously with the back of her hand. Despite how intensive the exertion had seemed, no sweat lay beaded and glistening upon her fair skin, twas only a thought. "Do you... want to try to track that one or do you want to continue waiting here?" Either option would be met without any sort of disagreement but she wanted more than anything to get up and walk around for awhile, to work the stone from her joints before it became permanent. He had trusted her, and she had failed. It left a bitter taste in the mouth of a woman who hated to disappoint anyone and, more than that, hated struggling to learn something. But, the taste of her first true kill, whenever that day came, would be all the more sweet, she reasoned. Better fail now than when it truly matters simply because she had not the courage to learn from each failure.

[Balderdash]

As it soon transpired, Edreina's missed shot was not entirely without yield. There was a clamor of voices in the direction the buck dashed, followed by a girl's scream soon cut short. Evidently, they had surprised someone. And, who would have guessed, the buck had left a nice shiny trail for them to follow. It was not, perhaps, the result they had been seeking, but it was most definitely a result. OOCSuch dedication! Sorry about the short post, you two. Figured it'd be better to give you freedom than to make something long but railroad-y.

[Razkar]

"Shyke..."

Sheer habit forced Razkar's face into a grimace of annoyance, watching in the space of a blink as the arrow flew towards its target, the buck rearing up at the sound of the bowstring, muscles trembling under its fur, head swinging around-

-followed by an inhuman bleat of pain as scarlet sprang into the frigid air, an arc of blood spewing almost gracefully from a broad cash across the buck's legs, becoming a squiggle against the sky and rocks and grass as it leaped away-

-bounded, stick-like legs moving with unfathomable speed and strength to Razkar's biped eyes. Something so thin and frail looking, and within less than a handful of ticks, it was gone, vanishing into the rough copse of trees it had emerged from.

"I'm sorry."

He turned and saw a look of sheer, dejected gloom settle on Edreina's face like a death shroud... and the look on his own lifted just as easily. The Myrian smiled lightly, leaning a little closer to press his forehead to hers, seeking to stir some smile, some quirk of her lips with his warm, simple touch.

"This is why we are out here," he said, voice soft and coaxing, "So we can learn. Now we can track that buck, learn even more, hmm?"

Their need for stealth and deception over, Razkar stood up... and immediately regretted doing so. Muscles tense and folded over for bells were suddenly sprung back to heir full length and they were not happy about it. The Myrian hissed and stretched his tingled limbs as bile seemed to fill them, bending and twisting until the prickling numbness began to subside. But his eyes were fixed on the patch of yellow-and-orange leaves where the deer had vanished towards.

"Do you... want to try to track that one or do you want to continue waiting here?"

Razkar weighed the question for a tick, and then nodded decisively. He was a killer, and a very accomplished one, but when it came to the hunt, he was not one for dragging out suffering. The buck had not attacked him, nor had they met on a field of battle, consecrated by the Goddess-Queen. It was prey; he chose to be there, he chose to end its life, and the least it had earned was a clean death.

Flashes of a terrible memory came to his eyes. A hunt with his mother years before, when he was barely into his adolseence. He'd missed his shot and his mother had beat him to the jungle floor, commanding him to go, alone, and finish the wounded deer he had struck an arrow into.

Razkar had done as commanded, of course. He remembered with shame and a pang of very real pain the look of anguish in the deer's eyes when he found it, half-submerged in thick mud, panting blood, desperate for a pain it did not understand to end.

He would not allow it to happen again.

"Better to finish off what you wound," he said, voice now taking the harder but educational edge of an instructor, "Some hunters would say not to, but... it is wrong." His lover blinked a few times and he smiled solemnly. "It offends the Green Goddess, to leave one of her children in pain. We finish what we start, Edri. Should be easy enough, I think, with the blood-"

Then the scream burst upon them, the audible relative of lightning across a pitch black night sky. Well... that isn't quite accurate. First there was a hubbub of voices, definitely from vocal chords, not animals or birds, but...

"... what-?"

Razkar's head had snapped around at the sound of it, a half-dozen latent instincts and nuances of his senses opening invisible eyes at the portent of the unexpected and unknown. His gnosis purred into life, trembling gently as if it could feel... something.

Then the scream washed over them like a tidal wave, and in the space of a blink, Razkar was running, ax and gladius in both hands, yelling over his shoulder-

"FRESH ARROW! QUICKLY!"

That Bronze Mountain petch-up all over again. She's not the best with the bow... but I'm better with blades. Lets hope they haven't got too many of the first.

-and pelting through the wet grass towards the sound of it. Screams meant fear and thus conflict, if of the mind or of the body... and it sounded like that of a female, too. High and querulous, terrified... and apparently, not alone.

The Myrian's face set into a grim mask aside from his wide eyes, vision bouncing as his body did, waiting for the stunned Svefra to catch up.

[Edreina]

Everything the Myrian said made sense to Edreina. So much so that she had to fight the urge to smack herself in the forehead for being so silly. In a similar fashion, the Svefra did not practice "catch-and-release" as others she had seen done at the docks of Zeltiva and Syliras. When a Svefra caught a fish, it was seen as a blessing from their Father, no matter how small, and would be eaten. Fishing for sport was ridiculous; the hook caused the fish pain as did being hauled through the water. This misguided arrow was no different.

And then, like a knife across a sail, the scream that rent the air caused both she and the Myrian to grind to a halt. Both went onto sudden alert, Razkar dissecting the situation with each of his senses and Edreina attempting the same. She rose from her crouch, gritting her teeth as her muscles protested in the ringing silence. Something was wrong, very very wrong. Edreina had heard enough screams of surprise in her day to know the sound of one. And, as of late, she had heard enough screams of primal terror to know its trembling vibrato. Images of conniving bandits, snarling Yukmen and acid spitting Balicani traipsed through her mind, setting her stomach roiling with unease.

At her master, mentor, and lover's command, Edreina started visibly, eyes wide and surprised by the power of his wyrdless words. It took a half tick for her surprised mind to catch up but eventually she did. Slim fingers snagged the nearly-full quiver from the ground and slung it over her shoulder. Already, she was running after him, eyes flashing from the ground she feared losing her balance to and the lithe brown form she was chasing. Two long, freckled fingers caught hold of an arrow and her thumb guided the string into the subtle notch at the end of its feather tail.

But, she did not focus on fitting it against the handle of the bow nor on tensing the string in preparation. In that moment, she focused only upon the surer movements of her feet. A season ago she would have tripped over every branch, stone, and surprisingly thick tuft of grass. But, after so long on the road with Razkar, he feet had grown surer, her body lost its need to be swaying at a steady rhythm.

There was no longer any need for subtlety, Edreina realized as she crashed gracelessly through yet another thorned branch. Each of her clodding, ungainly steps likely roused the silent guardians of the wilds, caused them to shudder more leaves free at the sight of one so ill equipped for their realm.

Any other day, she would have begged for Razkar to wait for her, to give her a chance to catch up. But, someone was in trouble and it was best that one of them - preferably Razkar, for obvious reasons - be there to assist however they could. It was a shame that he was always being hampered by his less-than skilled female, but at least she was there to help however she could manage.

[Balderdash]

Well, they found the source of one of the voices. Soon the duo burst into a clearing, surrounded by looming oak trees and dotted with ferns. The grass here was trampled; an indicator of activity. If they strained their ears, they might even be able to pick up the distant, rapidly dimming sound of men running through brush. In another tick, however, it was gone. It seemed they had been scared off. They also discovered the source of the scream. It was a young woman, eighteen-years-old at most, with creamy skin slightly marred by freckles, and strawberry blonde hair. She was wearing what appeared to be a nightgown of white silk. She was pitched over in the middle of the clearing, and a dark stain was spreading from between her shoulder blades. If the two drew closer, they would see that blood was beginning to pool around a grave wound in her chest. She neither moved nor made noise. If checked for a pulse, she would have none.

[Razkar]

Razkar didn't need to check her wrist or her throat to know she was dead. He'd seen plenty of corpses before, and made more than his share of them. That stark, shattering stillness was all he needed to see. No heave of breasts only just come to womanhood... no spark of djed or divinity in eyes wide open and naught but glassy marbles in her skull... the stink of arterial blood already festering in the atmosphere...

The Myrian's ears pricked as he heard the retreating footsteps, and his gnosis roared at the back of his neck. Cowards! And it had been the plural. At least three, by the sound of it, and what had been the grand and dauntless deed they had accomplished?

The slaughter of a young female. Unarmed. Innocent. Alone.

Razkar crouched down beside her, gladius sighing back into its sheath as he reached down... paused... Goddess, she was so young. A whole life, nuffed out with any cause or reason he could see. He checked the wound but it was perfunctory: she was beyond the aid of any healer now. All she had left was...

"Honored Dira..." He whispered softly, free hand slowly closing her eyes so she might see the Next World. "Fold your arms around this poor soul... let her find her kin and her peace..."

The Myrian's hand dipped into his pocket for a moment, and Edreina would hear a familiar clinking as he pinched two things between his fingers... then placed a copper miza over the girl's eyes.

"... for the Jackals, female..."

Then he rose, and like a tempest. Gladius was freed yet again from its bind and Razkar's eyes smoldered like dry ice or distant volcanoes, never leaving the patch of clearing where the abominations who'd murdered this... child, had gone running to.

The trail will be fresh. Their scent. Their prints. Their sounds.

"Say what you must and be ready to move, apprentice," he spoke, voice impossibly, frighteningly calm, a tranquil fury that was more unnerving in its way that screaming, frothing rage, "Then we go."

[Edreina]

OOCFun fact, eyes tend to remain open after death even if someone tries to close them due to muscle relaxation. It's why coins were placed over the eyes in the olden days: to hold the lids shut. Death still shocked Edreina. But, it was not as much as it once had. Her stomach roiled like a wind-tossed sea and she felt bile claw at the back of her tongue. The flash of red hair and pale, freckled skin sent a tingle up her spine as, for a second, she was reminded of the day she had spent facing a younger version of herself. For a terrible instant she worried that the nightmare had somehow returned and was far more cruel and less obvious in its falsehood than the time before. When that vanished the young Svefra was faced by a truth all the more tragic: the poor girl had been alone and murdered in cold blood.

A trill of rage swept through her veins at the thought, warming her skin and narrowing her pale blue eyes. The poor creature was left in pale silk and naught else, leaving Edreina to wonder if all else had been stolen or the poor girl's story was far more tragic. Where was her family? Did anyone know where she was or... at least where she was supposed to be? Her stomach rolled again at the idea of some sibling pacing their dwelling, wondering over the location of this poor girl.

Of course, Razkar fared better. He managed to whisper a few growling word to the girl before rising, before turning to the trail left by the murderers. When commanded so frighteningly calmly, Edreina rushed to comply, mind whirling.

Her people were so different than those that strode upon the earth. The customs of those that rolled in the dirt were as unknown to the Svefra as her own were to the soul that once dwelt in this vessel. But, the honor of another culture was better than none at all. Among her people, some sent their kin to sea with a harpoon to symbolize their return to the Svefra, their ability to fight their way back into this world. Others gave the deceased an anchor so that it truly bonded their body with the Suvan instead of allowing it to be consumed by the gulls and one day wash upon a far away shore. The customs were rare and existed in only a few pods, but they were customs. Though she had neither, this was not a Svefra's send off.

With a single hand, Edreina rearranged her limbs, helping her to lay as if only sleeping. This way, her very existence did not scream of violence. With a final thought, she slipped the notched arrow from between her fingers and lay it upon her breast, crossing her hands over it. "To protect you as you return to this world..." Her explanation was a whisper perhaps too quiet for any ears other than those now deaf. "May you sail upon smoother seas and be driven by quieter winds..." Fratavan words were a lullaby to which her soul could come to rest.

"I'm ready," she said quietly, face sullen and grave as she notched another arrow. The corpse was not the only one that wore a bloodless pallor. "Let's find those bastards." As if sensing her intent, Edreina imagined that the Balicani bones in the pouch on her hip thrummed, signalling the strength and ferocity they would lend to her.

[Balderdash]

"It won't help." breathed a male voice behind them. It belonged to a man in the prime of life, with long light brown hair and gleaming skin. He was clad in a gold-trimmed tunic of persimmon and scarlet, with a glittering gold belt and sandals of the same color that carried no dirt. Most striking of all though were his wings of emerald, amber and jade. He seemed denser than the two humans before him, as if he were made of more solid stuff than they were. His head was bowed, and his features spoke of a deep sorrow. "Vengeance will not restore life to her." After two ticks' silence, Yahal spoke again. "Her name was Valentine. She was the daughter of a Zeltivan merchant. A man of exceptional means, and ultimately unfortunate reputation. They stole her for ransom, thinking that the father would pay great sums for his beloved daughter." The deity's brow furrowed then, and the air shivered. "But his pride would not allow it." Presently his head turned up slightly, and he spoke these next words with his eyes locked on Razkar, "He could not let those villains best him. Whatever the cost was. His daughter died believing he would rescue her." His feathers bristled, and he asked the Myrian, "Did you know traitors feed Rhysol with their actions?"

[Razkar]

"It won't help."

Whatever cold, killing rage Razkar felt was halted, if not dimmed, by the vision that appeared before them... and that was the only word he felt was apt for the... man?

It looked male. The very definition of one, in fact, barbarous though his features were. Perfect and vital, features chiseled out of living marble, curly hair flowing like spun chocolate. He reminded Razkar of those frescoes and statues he'd seen littering Syliras, glorying the ancient heroes of old, making gnarled and grizzled Knights into over-men of dizzying physical prowess.

But none of them had wings, and certainly not of that color.

"Vengeance will not restore life to her."

The next question should have been "What in world are you?!", but something about the vision's tone, his attitude, cut through the layers of bafflement in Razkar and struck straight to his being. His blood. His people.

"You make confusion with vengeance for justice," he said lowly, cold embers of his icy anger still sparking in his black eyes, "The girl is dead. Her killers flee. That is not right, and if it can be made right, then-"

The wing'd vision continued without waiting, as if Razkar's words were as insubstantial and irrelevant as air... and the Myrian found himself swallowing his anger as the story was unfolded. A gamut of emotions raced across his features: curiosity, disbelief, confusion... and then, predictable anger.

"He... He did not... even try?"

"He could not let those villains best him. Whatever the cost was. His daughter died believing he would rescue her."

Razkar had sparred enough with barbarians to know when the... subject, should we say, of a story had subtly changed. He felt eyes that... seemed without color... shifting, shimmering, staring through him like Syna's rays through light fog, stripping him bare, down to his soul... and his deeds.

Memories surfaced. Another girl held hostage. Another handful of the dregs who would slice her up like mutton to cause one she loved harm. And the man in question, with a gladius in hand, unwilling to let them win-

"Did you know traitors feed Rhysol with their actions?"

The question was a slap to Razkar, and he took a step back as if struck. The part of his mind still anchored in that scarlet clearing screamed that they were losing time, the light, the scent, a chance for vengeance! No... justice! Wasn't it... justice? Vengeance implied a... personal connection. Razkar did not feel that, just a cold righteousness that such low examples of males should not live.

However you wish to justify it...

"Who... Why did..." The savage shook his head, black hair cascading around his shoulders, eyes focusing on the statue staring through him. Wings flapped idly and then bunched up closer, like a bird confronted by a snake. "Why do you tell me this? What is the point of this?!"

He stepped forward, even as the universe at large held its breath, for they knew the vision was no mere trickery nor aberration. But Razkar had no heed of this, and his hanger needed some outlet, his fury some target. So why was it he could not raise his gladius? Why was it the vision seemed to stall any thoughts of violence?

Evidently, however, it did not stay his tongue.

"Why tell the story of a dead girl, hmm? Why not help us bring revenge to her killers? I mean... justice..." He faltered, tripping over his words, tried to rally and lashed out however he could. "You speak with sorrow... like one who regrets what happened here..."

The Myrian pointed now, and down at the cooling body of Valentine. His hand trembled slightly, but whether it was out of anger or outraged grief, who could tell?

"Then why not help her? And who is Rhysol?"