Open That's Not Thunder

➹34th-In the midst of more rain, flooding and booming thunder, another attack by the winged beasts occurs in the dead of night.[ST Starter]

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Not found on any map, Endrykas is a large migrating tent city wherein the horseclans of Cyphrus gather to trade and exchange information. [Lore]

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That's Not Thunder

Postby Prophet on September 25th, 2016, 11:35 pm

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33rd of Fall, 516 AV
19th Bell


It had rained two weeks ago and a blitz attack had left several wounded and a few missing. The weak of faith believed them dead and had spent the days that followed in mourning. There were those who held on to the belief that Drykas were strong and not so easy to give up amidst harsh realities. After all, they roamed in one of the harshest realities in the world; the Sea of Grass. The weather had been unseasonably warm and it was beginning to make things difficult but today promised a bit of rest and some much needed rain.

The sky was dark with clouds. The cold liquid began to fall in tiny drops and at first, it was simply refreshing. Animals and children frolicked as the long line of Drykas moved into their new camp. A small stream flowed from north to south and filled several small pools created by the terrain’s random elevation. Several Watch members and some ankals of the Amethyst clan made sure to steer everyone away from the water sources. It was always prudent to make sure that no herds were too close to the fresh water. Domestic animals had a way of fowling up things like streams and pools if they were given the time and proximity.

As the caravan broke into segments and pavilions branched off, the rain began to fall a bit harder but it was still nice to be out in the drizzle. Drykas set up their pavilions, herded their livestock and unpacked their wagons. The endless line of men, women, children and animals seemed to unravel as groups of travelers went here and there. A bell ago, this was all just a normal piece of land nestled between two of the rolling steppes. Now it was crawling with several thousand people and thousands more animals.

Eyes watched from the back of a strider as the city began to sprawl across the open space. His partners were alert but this was a time, in general, of easement and relaxation. Despite the incident earlier this season, things had been relatively quiet aside from a very hot autumn. When the Drykas were all in one place, there were very few things that were a danger. The Sea of Grass was home to some of the meanest, craftiest and nastiest creatures on all of Mizahar but everything was wise enough to avoid the massive encampment known as Endrykas.

The weather had held for several bells and the rain did not change but visibility did. Fog appeared almost out of nowhere and crept along the edges of the blossoming city. Most people were unaware or apathetic to the regularly seen apparition. Some even took it as a good sign. The sounds of hammers driving stakes, women hollering for children and men cursing at animals built up into an emotional symphony of normalcy. It echoed across the tall grasses and whispered in between the constant and sporadic kamikaze flights of the rain. A scream split the air like a peel of thunder and all eyes turned to stare up where the Watch had been. All anyone saw was a trio of striders riding down the steppe without riders.

The alarm had been raised and weapons were drawn but camp still had to be made. Those skilled in the art dove into the web to search for answers. As groups were directed by the Watch, patrols rode up and down the spawning establishment. The more the fog thickened, the more the nerves of the people tensed. The playful shouts and singing were gone replaced by parents shouting for their children to come home and leaders giving orders for perimeters to be set and rotations created. For nearly a bell, this preventative action seemed to deter whatever had made the initial attack. Speculation had it that the culprits had either gotten their fill or were scared off by the quick and impressive show of force; the old had other thoughts and coached diligence.

34th of Fall, 516 AV
2nd Bell


The light of Syna was gone, the storm clouds had become thick enough to forbid Leth from shining and the fog continued to fill Endrykas. The rain had never ceased and was making the world a muddy mess but the fog was a bigger concern. Its wispy fingers permeated the riding paths, obscured pavilions from their neighbors and made most people a bit more rigid than they should be. In the quiet night, the moist clouds also muffled sounds. In one Opal camp, a young girl woke and asked her father why her heart was beating so loud. The man was confused and patient so he scooped her up held her tight. The strong arms of her father soothed the young child who tugged at her braided ponytail and listened to her father’s breathing through his chest. The man took her out of the tent to walk around. His boots squished in the soggy soil as he whispered songs trying to ease the late night disturbance in her mind.

“There it is again, papa!” The bright eyes gazed into those of her patriarch when her tiny head lifted. This time, the Drykas man heard it too but it wasn’t the rhythm of life's organ. It was the sound of wings breaking the pattern of raindrops hitting the grass and canvas tents. These repetitive dead spots could only mean one thing and the man knew it. He wrapped his daughter up tightly and dove to the ground. Through tears of pain, the huge frame of the Drykas shielded his daughter who only felt the wet earth and her warm father. She could not know that his back was ripped open along his spine by razor-sharp claws. This was the strength of the Drykas and they would need it in the bells to come.

Shouts of surprise and anger, screams of pain and loss filled the camp. If one was standing near the Wind Knotted Gates, he could assume four separate attacks. One was in the Opal spoke, another along the Amethyst section while the Emerald and Ruby clans also seemed to have unwelcomed guests. The Zith had struck again and this time it was more than just a simple raid…

It was war.

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That's Not Thunder

Postby Lorcan Gregory on September 27th, 2016, 10:53 pm

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33 rd of Fall, 516 AV
19 th Bell


Every muscle in his body ached, his thighs more so as they slowly adjusted to the constant horseback riding. He couldn’t quite get used to the Drykas way, not just yet anyhow and not that he knew any different; he had no memories of the culture or people he came from. The rotation of the run confused him; they make camp, then a few days later they move on. No wonder no one could ever find the city of tents – it was always moving!

Wanting to make himself useful and after the unexpected, horrifying attack a few days ago, Lörcán kept close to his new employer, offering to help herd the Pride’s animals with the rest of Endrykas and to keep them from straying off into the wild along the way. His seemingly altruistic offer though was not purely a kind act of assistance; it was also fuelled with selfish need. After the onslaught by who the hell knows what they were, he needed to stay close to the group if he was going to survive – that and he also had no idea where they were all going.

Exhausted and sore, his simple shirt stuck uncomfortably to his sweat soaked skin as he swayed with the discombobulating motions of his Zavian - only to be further vexed as the rain began to splatter against his umber, unruly mop. With a glum scowl he gazed towards the black, clouded sky. ' Just great. Now he was hot, sticky and about to get wet. '

“Hey!” As the rain poured into the crevices of the rolling grasslands, rivulets flooding into small streams, the Pride’s small herd of Zibri lingered, quenching their thirst greedily. “Hey get out of there! C’mon, move it!” Lörcán hugged his legs tighter around Ahiro, rocking forward in his saddle, urging his Zavian onward after the gathering herd.

“Yah! C’mon! Move it!” He growled tetchily as he flicked his reins to and fro, directing Ahiro from side to side behind the cattle. An easy going bunch, obviously well trained by the Pride’s handlers, the cattle moaned but continued on with the rest of Endrykas. A swift glance up, Lörcán could see the pavilions breaking away from one another, dispersing across the new found camp ground. They had made it.

* * *


His hands slick in the drizzling rain, Lörcán grit his teeth as he attempted to pull the ropes to his half constructed tent taught – that’s when he heard it. The bloodcurdling scream jolted Lörcán from his task. Startled, his heart raced, his hand innately reached for the gladius strapped across his broad back; dropping rope, pole and fabric into a disheveled heap by his feet in the process.

The cold steel of his blade joined in the chiming chorus of ringing metal as the Drykas people readied to defend themselves. On edge, his hazel gaze followed the wide eyed gape of the crowd stumbling to a halt around him. Whipping around just in time to see the rider-less Striders bounding down the knoll, Lörcán’s breath suddenly caught in his lungs as he squinted through the ever thickening haze that had descended menacingly over the assembling city of tents. Fear ran in a swift, cold shiver through his entire body.

As the fog eerily grew denser until visibility was near to naught, Lörcán could feel the tension pressing against his chest. Despite the patrols watching over the reassembled Endrykas, Lörcán was wired with anxious energy. Every sound, every breath almost caused him to jump. He continued to erect his small homestead in the middle of the Opal Clan, with blade in hand, his grip tightening stiffly around the hilt of his gladius with every faint rustle in his ear. Sleep would not come easily tonight.


34 th of Fall, 516 AV
2 nd Bell


Drenched in sweat, shirtless, Lörcán tossed and turned with the sharp, cold sting of his weapon pressed tightly against his chest. Half dozing, dark memories from the life that evades his grasp haunted his dreams. Suddenly he bolted upright! Inhaling sharply, tears trickling down his cheeks. A snafu of emotions, that he didn’t even recognise as his own, overwhelmed him.

Suddenly a shrill shriek snapped him from his dazed state! As sleep swiftly gave way to alert consciousness, Lörcán tossed his feelings aside along with his blanket; screams of terror filling his ears as he hurriedly stuffed his feet into his boots. Not even bothering to tie them, forgetting to throw on his shirt, Lörcán blasted through his tent flap into a scene of utter chaos!

His hazel gaze flung wide with horror, attempted to soak in what was transpiring around him. Winged beasts, with razor sharp teeth and claw tore at tent and flesh alike. All around him people screamed in petrified panic. Others roared inspiring battle cries as they raced to defend their families.

His heart thundering deafeningly in his ears, Lörcán could barely make sense of what was happening. Natural instincts took reign. His fist clenched tightly around his blade, his jaw flexed with determination and an odd wave of blinding rage fuelled courage he didn’t know he had in his breast. With a deep reverberating bellow his own battle cry was muffled in amongst the screaming as he charged forward to join the fray.

Through the thick fog veiling his sight, Lörcán saw a shadow loom at him from above. Fear gripped his heart in a painful scrunch, but adrenaline threw him into a dead run! Roaring at the winged beast, he lowered his gladius; preparing to swipe upward. Suddenly the excessively saturated mud squished and shifted beneath his boots! Slick like ice, it sent him tumbling forward head first into the sludge!

The very tick Lörcán slammed into the ground, the air driven from his lungs in a painful gasp, he felt the tips of the beast’s talons narrowly scratch the skin from his back. Choking on a mouthful of wet muck, he suddenly realised that had he not fallen – the beast would have gutted him!
[ 15/11 ]

Owes: Naiya (S) | Rufio (R) | Taurina (R) | One Love (S) | Brocton (R)


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That's Not Thunder

Postby Prophet on October 5th, 2016, 9:19 pm

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PlayersThis thread is still open should anyone wish to join.

The Zith screeched in frustration as her snack fell into the mud. Powerful strokes of her leathery wings carried her up into the sky and out of sight for many ticks; nearly a chime. Her vision was nearly flawless in the gloom of a rainstorm. Life within a cave colony tends to improve vision in the dark and she was using hers to keep tabs on the dark-haired man. His shirtless chest glistened in the random flashes of light from magic, lanterns and even the occasional beam from Leth. The rain continued to fall and she circled as he lay sprawled in the muck.

All around, her kin laid siege to the horse people. She could hear the roars of victory and the wispy pangs of death but she could also hear the human struggle to regain his breath. When he finally came around and decided to get his arse up and that was her window. The female Zith flew down like a falcon; the arc brought her chest high on the soggy man. The way she floated with the wind allowed her speed to continually increase as she drew near to her target. Clawed hands flexed but remained close to her chest. At the last moment, she snapped her arms out in an attempt to have her claws shred his guts. The sheer force of her momentum was enough to take out a Zibri so needless to say the violent Zith was confident in her approach.

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That's Not Thunder

Postby Naiya on October 6th, 2016, 11:07 pm

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Fall-33rd-516AV

The move was more tedious than she had accounted for. How Seirei had managed like this for so long, how she still managed... It truly escaped Naiya. Her child was swaddled tightly, the blanket confining tiny arms and legs and supporting the mossy bark eyes that peered up at her like they could see into her very soul. She cradled his form, tucked securely in her lap as they bounced in the seat of the wagon. The wrong end of both Drelah and Aani faced them as they pulled the travelers behind them.

Wildfire walked, confused, beside them, head tossing at the bobbing rhythm of their travel. She squeezed closer to him, reaching out into the rain to soothe the concerned stallion. The rain pattered above them, the bench covered only by the versatile black canvas that served many purposes in their pavilion. She was glad for the thought that had spurred the stretching of the canvas, the ride in the back of the wagon was cramped and bounced like a child learning to trot.

As they arrived to the site of their new camp, Naiya was left with little jobs, the larger tasks falling outside the realm of her ability with a child so young. She sent Khal to gather their herd, "circle" the command that sent him out to bring their cattle near. She wrestled with cloth to tie Halkir to her chest, the fabric binding him close so that she could work with her hands as the fog began to roll in.

They set about erecting the the pavilion the main posts up and secure before the scream ripped the sense of security the encampment provided from the people. She grabbed her spear before peering out towards the sound, a protective hand covering the protesting infant at her chest. She could see nothing from her vantage, but word traveled quickly of the missing watchmen and the lone striders.

Their camp was fearful as the fog thickened. So many children, and so few adults. Naiya pressed gently inside, coaxing the children together under the care of Taerin, she struggled to part from them, but her skills were best setting up and holding her weapons. She went back out, never far from her spear, her bow haphazardly across her shoulder with her quiver. It was not ideal storage, but it gave her hands to work with. She placed her spear at her feet, and lifted the mallet to begin her work securing the heavy cloth of the pavilion.

Despite talk that the Zith had been sated, Naiya could find no rest for the galloping pace of her heart.

Fall-34rd-516AV


On this night, they all slept together. Bedding was spread through the main partition, children protected on all sides by mothers and aunts. Naiya slept fitfully, Halkir at her breast sleeping perhaps better than his mother could manage. Tension and fear between the pavilion had made all the children fussy, but their day of travel had worn them out as surely as a day of hard play.

Exhaustion from strain and fear had coaxed Naiya into an uneasy slumber, but she woke often to the pitter-patter of rain and the shifting moods of Zulrav's storm. Gusts of wind were what brought her around this time, short puffs, like the snort of an angry horse. Blow, blow, blow rhythmic, unsettling to the horsewoman. Her racing heart nearly tripled the sound of wind outside, and she knew sleep would avoid her until she calmed.

She rose, careful to bundle her weupo in blankets, as she grabbed her spear and her dagger. There was no sense going out into the threat of the evening unarmed. She would pace the camp, soothe the herds, then retire back to bed. The fog and the fear that invaded their city had driven every creature to their wit's end.

To her surprise the animals cowered beneath the shelter of the pavilion, crowded tightly beneath every inch of space. The nervous blowing of the horses became squeals of fear as something changed.

The blowing of the wind that woke her had been absent in her initial departure from shelter, but it returned in a buffeting of wings that Naiya was sickeningly familiar with.

"Zith!" Her warning cry was hoarse with terror as the stallions of her herd reared battering at the dark smog with their powerful legs. Wind buffeted Naiya, the silken night form of a zith appearing above her. She dropped fully to a crouch, stabbing at the sky above with her spear while her free hand shielded her head.

A screeching cry met her ears as claws dug into her arm, blood dripping across her body both her own and other.

-----------

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That's Not Thunder

Postby Merevaika on October 9th, 2016, 8:41 pm

Merevaika


33rd Fall 516

The rain pattered on the tent above her, Merevaika hauling the canvas across herself and working beneath it. Her possessions lay in clumps beneath it, mostly dry. People trickled in after after, placing tents up in clumps where they decided to gather. As a lone Drykas, she hadn't had to wait for everyone. The independence suited her. With the zith attack not too long ago, normal people would have been scared, felt defenceless alone. Merevaika knew she would never feel that - being alone meant less people to protect - the only persons she needed to care for was herself. And she could do just that.

Facing the rain, she pushed out from the cover, letting it stream down her face as she hammered in the pegs to prop it up. Her hammering was broken by a scream. The Drykas looked up, immediately reaching for the knife that constantly hung at her belt. Her tent fell, the rope held taut by her hand collapsing in the mud. Her eyes weren't trained on that, however, but focused on the distance, where three striders could be made out through the mizzling rain. Three striders without riders. She whistled, calling Eryunt closer subconsciously.

Let the fog hide them from prying eyes. They had nothing - any pavilion would be a better target than her tent, with its lone Drykas, wild Beast and fierce Strider. A fool would bother them.

Despite her reassuring thoughts, when she finally set up her tent, finally lay down to rest, she kept her bow on one side and scimitar on the other. Beast stayed close to her, sensing the fear that clung to the humid air. The knife still hung on her belt. She was not going to move it.

34th

She was awake at the first scream, recognising the thudding in the air around her. Acting on instinct rather than thought, she was already up, boots pulled on and scimitar flying to its position. Her eyes searched the tent for Beast, who was almost invisible apart from the red, glaring eyes that marked her, and gave a sign for her to follow.

In the random flashes of light from the lanterns and torches glaring around her, she could make out the winged beasts, tearing at the skies with their dreadful calls. She had already notched an arrow, and all she needed to do was let it soar through the sky, bringing it up sharply towards a diving Zith. She could barely make out the shape, but didn't care, watching the arrow disappear from her view.

Quick to get another one in the air, Merevaika wasted no time with another, each arm moving in a swift, endless motion. Her heart pounded yet she kept her breathing steady, reminding herself that she was in control.

At least, she thought she was. Another Zith smashed into her back, knocking the air swiftly out of her, claws dug through her clothing to scratch at her back. Her bow flew out of reach, but she was well armed, and it didn't matter. Placing both hands firmly on the mud, she forced herself up, bringing one round as a fist. With all her strength, she managed to knock the zith off her, before drawing her scimitar and slashing towards it, face full of anger. What a fool, that Zith was.
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That's Not Thunder

Postby Lorcan Gregory on October 14th, 2016, 10:30 pm

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The beast’s sour shriek almost made Lörcán’s blood run cold! It was enough to spur his muscles into action; gut instinct driving him to his feet as he panted for breath to return to his lungs. Besmeared from head to toe in grainy mud, his boots slipping and sliding within the sloppy muck, he regained a blanched knuckled grip on his blade and fearfully searched the nebulous sky above.

In the pitter-pattering rain, the shallow cuts on his back smarted and tingled as the blood leaked in small rivulets down his skin. Forcing himself to focus, as the adrenaline surged through his being, he pushed the discomfort to the back of his mind and staggered to and fro; searching for the circling radge.

He could hear the taunting thrum of the creature’s wings over the screaming and gruesome throng of battle. It was close. It was coming. Heart thundering painfully in his chest, the radge's shadow flitted overhead as she made one last circle before diving towards him!

The sharp edges of her claws glistened faintly in the few streams of Leth's light peeking through the fog. Fear struck Lörcán cold but only for a tick! Rage replaced panic and Lörcán lurched into a collision course; gladius raised high above his shoulder; his rugged features split into a scowl as he let rip a deep battle cry.

Time seemed to slow. The gallop towards the winged beast seemed an eternity. Yet something flashed through his mind giving him doubts about his attack. It wasn't a comprehensive thought, it wasn't an image. It was a feeling. A feeling that this would end badly. Foreboding rippled through his body in a sudden wave of urgency.

Suddenly the winged creature was closing in on him, her talons of death swiftly extended. With wide eyed trepidation Lörcán hit the deck!

Falling onto his knees Lörcán allowed the slippery muck to instead aid him in his attack. Aquaplaning across the saturated dirt, Lörcán growled with the strain as he bent backwards as far as his spine would allow. As if all in one motion, Lörcán flung his head back and jabbed into the air with all his mustered strength!

Skidding to a halt, Lörcán flung himself into a dead run! Arms and legs pumping, he didn't dare look back to check if his blade drew blood.
[ 15/11 ]

Owes: Naiya (S) | Rufio (R) | Taurina (R) | One Love (S) | Brocton (R)


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That's Not Thunder

Postby Prophet on October 25th, 2016, 12:34 am

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Naiya


The Zith howled and vanished into the night’s dense cover of rain and shadows. The beating of wings was no long discernable as the screams of other Drykas, animals and Zith across the city filled the weeping sky. The noise was deafening and muted at the same time which made distinguishing patterns of movement all the more difficult. A thump to Naiya’s rear revealed nothing but an apparition of darkness. One of Zulrav’s bolt’s tore across the veil of clouds and illuminated the winged fiend with hungry eyes and dripping claws. A gash ran across it pelvis bone though little detail of the wound could be seen. Another streak of light flickered to give away the circling motion of the small Zith whose blood red eyes pierced the darkness and locked with the Drykas woman. It was not lost upon the creature that the woman supported a tiny snack.

The long pink tongue wrapped along the lower lips and then flicked against the protruding fangs of soured white. Twice the creature feinted a lunge to gauge its opposition being wary of the spear then without another thought it crouched and leapt into the cover of the night sky. After a tick, the creature sailed on a downdraft over the top of the Dawnwhisper pavilion and unleased a triplet of alternating slashes aimed to do as much damage as possible to the woman’s head, neck and shoulders.

Merevaika


The first arrow seemed to have no effect. The second shot was timed shortly before a pained shriek which boasted of a hit. The Zith that knocked the archer to the ground was fully intent on disemboweling the Drykas from behind but did not take the blow to her chest so well. In an awkward fall converted into a graceful back handspring, the Zith managed to put some space between her and the wildly slashing scimitar. This was fortunate since the winged terror held no weapons and relied solely on her acrobatic lunges and steps to avoid being cleaved. Despite this useful tactic, the creature soon found her forearms being sliced in shallow but long scratches as the larger human drew nearer with each step.

In what could have been a final strike, the tides of this particular battle seemed to shift. A crack of thunder masked the dignified pop of a bull whip whose flayed end wrapped around the wrists of Merevaika and halted her killing blow in midair. The whip was yanked back with a massive force that was the combined strength of arms, wings and back muscles. The male Zith was large even for his race and half flew away with his catch. The once retreating female beast saw this reversal and lunged forward to rip the pretty Drykas apart while Merevaika was struggling with the female’s mate.

Lorcan


The Zith realized its folly and turned at the last minute. Instead of being impaled and split asunder, the creature took a costly tear in its wing and crashed. With a howl of rage, the furry nemesis staggered to its feet and turned to see the pale back of Lorcan hot-footing it across the muddy terrain. The Zith roared and spit as it took off after the man. Within moments, a Drykas appeared from inside a nearby pavilion with spears in tow. The man had no chance for his timing was absolutely atrocious. Without missing a stride, the wounded Zith tore out his throat with one hand and caught the dropped spears in the other.

Having a busted wing prevented flying but it did not keep the wily predator from using his wings to elongate its strides. Lorcan was taller and a far better runner but the snapping cold winds provided lift to every step the Zith took and almost doubled its normal ground speed. Within a chime, the creature was slashing out with the spears at Lorcan. Ticks before he could impale the man from behind, the Zith veered sharply to the right to avoid a dead Zibri then used the carcass as a launching pad. Airbourne by nearly ten feet, the Zith steered his body down with frightening speed towards Lorcan with one spear leading like a lance and the other up in reserve- ready to throw. The first tip was aimed for center mass on the man.


NoteThis thread is now closed to new players. Sorry, look out for the next Zith attack coming soon!
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That's Not Thunder

Postby Naiya on October 25th, 2016, 5:02 pm

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Screams built up through the city, human and horse alike. Terrified braying overwhelmed other sound as she sought to follow the sound of the fighting. She glared up into the sky, looking and listening for the sounds of the creature's return. She moved into the night, slow, cautious. She found the firepit and tossed fuel haphazardly onto the pit hoping the burning embers would light the fuel and shed light on the attackers.

A sound behind her had her spinning on her heel, her spear drawn up, butt of the weapon at her chest tip angled at heart height. There was nothing, just darkness, slowly growing light at the behest of her fire. It wasn't the flame that lit up her sky, however, but a strike of Zulrav's spear crashing across the sky illuminating the beast that stalked her.

She bared her teeth at him as the light faded, snarling a curse as she cheered her small victory of wounding him. A second spear of light revealed that he had moved, circling her. She shouted another curse at him, lifting her spear in clear readiness for his next attack. Her eyes were adjusting some in the dim light from the fire, she could only just find the flicker of light reflected in the beast's eyes.

She held ready, spear pointed towards the beast as she matched his motion with careful steps. He lunged in at her and she struck, letting the weapon slide through her grasp until her fists met, driving the strike downwards to increase the damage. Just as quickly she retracted, not bothering with a proper block as she came back to ready, he hadn't followed through and her attack met air.

He lunged again, and she followed with motion, sliding forward with her strike as she had not the first time. Her spear went wide, stabbing through the flesh of the Zith's arm and rending the muscle as she dug downwards.

Angered, he departed, leaping into the night sky to hide away in his advantage of wings. It took only ticks before the Zith returned, dropping like a falcon out of the sky. She had no chance, missing his motion until his attack sliced searing hot wounds into her scalp angling down towards her neck. Naiya did the only thing she could to save her throat. She dropped, landing on her back with a slap of her hand to control the fall, she stabbed at the creature again, her spear the only reach she had to stop his decent from continuing.

Her weapon lodged in the creature's flesh, and she nearly lost hold with her weakened grip of her wounded arm, her body lifted with the spear, enough finally to pull the weapon free, and hopefully have caused true damage. She rolled to her stomach and pushed her self up off the ground, wincing as she scoured the darkness for her foe.

"Coward!" She shouted at him, her anger bubbling out of her throat in a roar. These creatures underestimated the strength of the drykas, they would not lose a battle in their own home. A scream from the horses had her running towards her herd, Wildfire illuminated by a flash of Zulrav's anger. He was rearing, coming down on the ground with incredible force onto the broken body of a Zith. Wildfire had not escaped unharmed, but he had the help of the others horses, Akaidras especially, and they were as strong as any warrior.

More comfortable with her back to her horses, Naiya faced the sky again, awaiting the next swooping attack from her foe. It didn't take long, as the creature landed to her left, too close for her spear. She didn't think, just dropped the long arm weapon and flipped her dagger into readiness leaping into action before either of them had time to think.

She sifted her feet, bent her knees, and slid in towards him, close enough that she could smell the rot of his body, she lifted her weapon and her arms up, protecting her face from the claws that aimed towards her. She dropped the dagger down with the strength of her body as claws pierced her sides, but her weapon held true, scouring a line of rent flesh down the Zith's face and lodging into the creature's neck.

Wildfire swung round at her pained cry, swinging his head and his weight into an attack on the fiend that fought his rider.


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That's Not Thunder

Postby Merevaika on November 13th, 2016, 3:05 pm

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The scimitar sliced, the sight of her attack forcing new determination forward in Merevaika. She charged forward, thrusting the scimitar around wildly, slashing left and right and wherever it glided next, letting the weapon guide her movements rather than the other way round. Fear clung to the air, and in that moment the Drykas could taste her enemy's, bringing the blade down onto her, a hard, violent thrust.

Something snagged her and her heart went to her throat, the situation reversing. Some large, imposing force heaved her back, and she was dragged backwards, feeling the strain of the whip cutting into her wrists. Ensnared, Merevaika couldn't fight back, knowing what was coming as predictable as Syna rising each morning. The female was about too charge forward, use those ugly claws to attack the now defenceless Drykas.

The Drykas she believed to be defenceless. Merevaika was never defenceless. She still gripped her scimitar, and with a strange swing of her wrist, she brought the sharp side to rest against the whip, struggling to cut it. It was hard with the yanking movements, with her hand slowly growing weaker as the whip dug in tighter. All while she struggled with one hand, she kept her eyes on the zith, waiting for the killing blow.

She lunged forward, wings outspread and teeth bared, claws reaching forward to tear Merevaika apart. Expecting that, the Drykas jumped in the last second, using the height of the zith who was dragging her to keep airborne for seconds longer than she should have. As she rose into the air, she rolled, pulling her knees tight to her chest before pushing them straight back out, hoping to hit the zith hard. If successful, she would smash into that creatures face and make her less of an interest, and if not, she would hopefully scare her back a bit, giving her a chance to struggle with the whip some more.

"Fool!" she called out, voice lost in the thunder and the shouting and the wind, but she called anyway, casting insults and curses at the zith around her, "Don't you know who we are, you monsters? Don't you know what we can do, you idiots? We are the Drykas and we will not rest till the last of you lie bleeding on the floor!" She spat out, still struggling with the whip, with sawing it apart, with the pain from the scratches and around her wrists. "I'll watch you suffer, you wait and see! The Drykas are always victorious!"

As if on cue, Eryunt burst out from the darkness, whinnying like crazy. He bucked and charged, trampling past the female zith and reaching Merevaika, her next planning forming. Reaching out towards him, she managed to snag his mane and the rest fell into place, with the horse riding under her while she continued to be dragged back.

Now firmly in place on her Strider's back, she ignored the tugging at her wrists, kicking Eryunt forward. He charged past the other zith, faster, firmer. The whip cut and rubbed at her wrist, but Merevaika fought past the pain, going even faster, even further. Either the zith would be the one to be dragged now, or her would drop the whip entirely, letting the binds fall off from her.

Spotting her bow, she turned Eryunt suddenly, keeping her eyes trained on that rather than the sky. She needed her bow - the scimitar was useless long range. Hoping she had enough time to snag it before another zith leapt at her, she pushed forward, ignoring the noises around. She didn't even stop to look back for the two zith she had struggled with.
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That's Not Thunder

Postby Lorcan Gregory on November 15th, 2016, 4:43 am

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“Shyke! Shyke! Shyke! SHYYYKE!!!!” The curses thrummed in Lörcán’s noggin; seemingly in perfect timing with his flailing limbs as he barrelled headlong between the closely erected pavilions of Endrykas. His heart scrunched painfully with each thundering beat; his bare back prickled in adrenaline fuelled apprehension as the winged creature caterwauled - hot on his trail!

Tumbling franticly past the pandemonium of battling bodies, hysterical, loose herds and swooping, clawed fiends; Lörcán braved a swift peep over his shoulder. A strident gasp escaped him amid his burning pants as the fluttering, broken wings catapulted the Wight closer and closer with each stride! Spear tips glinting menacingly in the flashes of Zulrav’s anger and pirouetting torch flames.

A dark shadow loomed over head as the wounded creature vaulted into the air; lunging at him from the skies! Twisting tersely on his heel - stumbling back a ways - Lörcán abruptly came face to face with the sharp, silver edge of a spear driving towards his heart! Within the moments of a split tick - an alarming, startling wave of ataraxy washed away Lörcán’s blind panic!

His grip stiffened painfully around the slick hilt of his blade. As his muscles tensed to react he dug in his heels; his breast swelling in an eruption of a blind audacity - incited by a foreign faith he did not recognise. Some veiled, neglected fragment of himself suddenly leapt free from the darkest recesses of his mind and whipped control from his conscious thought!

Glaring at the winged reaper square in its murderous eyes - oblivious to the secondary spear, concealed within the talons of his enemy - Lörcán defiantly swung his blade at the lancing spear with all his might! Roaring at the top of his searing lungs he swiped at the spear with a dual-handed grip! Bashing the weapon from its plunging trajectory, his blade shattered the wooden staff into two splintering pieces. The force of impact resonated agonisingly through his bones - tearing his Gladius from his fingers!

Jerking his head back as the razor shards flew in all directions, Lörcán pitched his body to the mucky swill after his clattering blade in an effort to avoid the plummeting radge bearing down upon him! The tick Lörcán lurched after his only means to defend himself - he was unexpectedly met with the excruciating agony of sharp metal ripping scant skin and flesh from the side of his ribcage as it scathed past his tumbling body. The Wight’s secondary spear struck into the muck with a sickening “Twuck”, tainted with Lörcán’s blood.

Slamming into the mud with a “squelch” and a piercing cry loud enough to wake the Gods! Lörcán innately cradled his wound with one hand, groaning through clenched teeth.

Through the bloodcurdling raucous of screams and war all around him, Lörcán discerned a voice calling out into the rampant skirmish, “Coward!” Swiftly followed with the thundering rumble of hooves and nickering squeals of horses nearby. The word in Pavi was nothing but gibberish to the foreign amnesiac, but it alerted Lörcán to the presence of another - to the presence of help!

Each strenuous breath brought a searing pain, firing like Zulrav’s lightning through his body as he desperately scrambled for his weapon through the thick sludge - the will to survive urgently animating his limbs. Lörcán crawled as swiftly as his he could manage towards his blade, buried in the excessively, saturated muck.

The deadly Wight loomed precariously not a few feet away; her feminine form illuminated by the flickering auburn glow of nearby torches - her talons gleaming ominously in Lörcán's peripheral.
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