Closed And Embers Danced in the Dark

[Belugnir]

55th of Winter, 518 AV, Woodlands near the Northern Outpost:


Snowless as it were, this particular evening seemed uncannily cold amongst the many others they'd spent roaming the wilds north-side of Ravok's lake shore... and the faint rumble of thunder on the horizon prophesized a stormy night for the southerner and the kelvic he accompanied, and the whistling wind that batted at their backs as they made way toward the sound of flowing water was hardly anything but unnerving.

The matters of setting up camp and weathering the outdoor conditions that were nowhere near as forgiving as those enjoyed by the stuckup milksops in the city proper was hardly among Einar's chief concerns at the time, however. Ever since the night of their boutiful discovery and the ruined intimacy he and Zavya had briefly shared, Ein hadn't been able to rest. Try he as he may have, days and nights went on and passed by yet he never could catch any shut-eye that lasted longer than a couple chimes... and when exhaustion finally did catch up to him on occasion, he would awaken soon afterward, beading cold sweat and wide-eyed at the deep rooted nightmares that eventually gnawed away most of whatever vigor and good will he could otherwise muster... It was bearable for the first week or so, nearly let up wholly the day he'd brought Shiress over to visit Zavya... yet ever since, the dreams had gotten worsened on and on, eventually driving Einar into a state of heartless melancholy... and a horribly foul mood.

On top of it, the food they foraged from that abandoned wagon and the original supplies he'd brought along from town had dwindled to their last ration the other day, and thusly he had to pay a visit to the northern outpost, where he came, several times, to the occasion of nearly starting a brawl over the pettiest discussions when it came to the matter of pricing... and proceeded to find himself repeatedly annoyed by the attempts of the several otherwise fond acquaintances he had there attempting to strike up a conversation when crossing his path... Even rejecting an offer for a job and with no small amount of crude vulgarity. Foul mood, indeed.

He didn't share his plight with Zavya, either, well, past what she could likely have discerned for herself. The girl wasn't stupid... And he could recall mayhaps five occasions in the past month where she'd witnessed him actually lie down in attempts of getting sleep.

He could of sworn he'd already heard the rain trot of the incoming storm when their path through the forest finally saw them to where a vast, rugged and uneven meadow came to hug the side of a steep, harsh stony hillside. And following a creek bed that descended from the unwelcoming rock formations, they would soon come upon a cavern... well, it was more alike a cavity within the hill's base, from which the shallow serpentine body of water emerged to descend down the valley. It was barren and largely occupied by the ponds and springs formed from the somewhat steep fall that originated somewhere deeper within the stone formations, yet there was plenty of room to set up from the night, with fresh water and cover from the rain, if nothing else.

Ein wouldn't have spent over a chime finding some means of securely tying Finnard within the shallow cave mouth, unloading some supplies from the pony's saddlebags, attaching a poach of oat to his snout, and turning to Zavya with a tone that failed in its attempts to contain the ill manners that begged to burst out from him.

''Trot along that way.'', he poked his chin in the general direction of the nearest point of treeline from where they stood, already turning to scurry off the other way. ''We'll likely freeze our arses off tonight..., and indeed the night, and the storm that would accompany it, had drawn uncomfortably close.

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[Zavya]

That drunken night by the fire had changed everything between them, and at first Zavya thought it was for the better. There was a barrier brought down, a sharing of selves that it was obvious neither of them were used to. Uncomfortable, yes, but almost in a good way—a familiarity growing between them that felt almost like… a friendship. An awkward friendship full of shouting and griping, but a friendship nonetheless. And the day he’d brought her Shiress… Gods, it was all she could do not to kiss him again. But memory of that night kept her mouth to herself. She couldn’t bear the thought of him pulling away once more.

Unfortunately, that newfound camaraderie didn’t last long. Einar withdrew further and further into himself, sleepless nights making for angry days and bringing about a return to the foul temper that had rankled her so much in the first place. With each passing day, Zavya could feel her own mood reflecting his, and it was with a touch of unexpected sorrow that she bitterly accepted things had gone back to the way they were, perhaps even worse. The tigress wasn’t sure why it bothered her so much. But it did.

Kisses only cause trouble, she thought, sighing in frustration as they finally found their way to a small cavern, tucked away and nearly hidden in the side of a hill. There’d only been two humans she’d ever willingly kissed in her life, and look how splendidly both of those occasions had turned out. Pain and confusion seemed to follow in her wake, and it was doing nothing for the escaped slave’s already fragile mental state. Or perhaps it’s just me. Maybe I’m just trouble.

Zavya eased the packs she was carrying to the floor of the cave, making a wide berth around Finnard. She took a look around and fought not to curl her lip. The Kelvic had never been a fan of enclosed spaces, much preferring to sleep out under the stars, but neither was she a fan of getting soaked in the imminent downpour. At least it was better than a tent.

Trot along that way. We'll likely freeze our arses off tonight...

The mercenary’s voice interrupted the tiger’s chain of thought, golden eyes flicking in his direction before offering a curt nod. Without saying a word, she swiped up the hatchet laying on the floor beside one of the packs, grabbed the largest pelt she could find, and walked out toward the tree line. This long spent in each other’s company, they knew without saying what their tasks were. And one of hers was gathering firewood.

It was a thoughtless task, but one she enjoyed. Perhaps it was the release of aggression whenever she brought the axe against the wood, perhaps it was the comfort of familiarity, but whatever it was, she was happy to do it. Plus, a few chimes away from his surly, watchful eye was a relief she wasn’t about to pass up.

Stepping into the woods, Zavya began her work, looking first for dead fall that she could simply gather. Laying out the pelt she’d brought to carry her spoils, she made a small circle around the area to begin her search. The Kelvic sifted through the leaf litter with a careful eye, picking up a few sticks and branches to assess their quality. Too big, too small, too wet… At last, she found an armful that would suit her purpose well enough, and set them down in the middle of the bear hide.

Looking down at the meager pile she’d accumulated, she shook her head. Nowhere near enough. With a grim sort of smile, she walked over to the nearest tree, looking to see if there were any branches low enough for her to cut. Shaking her head, she moved onto the next until she found one with low branches that was sufficiently dead enough that she could remove the limbs with ease. Raising the hatchet, she struck, repeating the motion until she had three moderately sized branches at her disposal. Placing them on the ground, she chopped them into more manageable lengths before wrapping them in the hide, as well.

“Much better,” she murmured as she looked at the larger pile, nodding in satisfaction and grabbing two of the pelt’s legs. Tying them together, she grabbed the other two and did the same before snagging up the whole bundle and tossing it over her back. Grunting, she shifted the weight more comfortably and turned back in the direction of the cave.

Zavya hadn’t gotten more than a few steps before a shiver ran down her spine, a whiff of cold air raising the delicate hairs on the back of her neck. Skin prickling in gooseflesh, she turned to look over her shoulder, the darkness of the wood seeming to compound on itself. It was as if even the moonlight had been stolen away, and the Kelvic felt more than a prickle of unease. As if to affirm her paranoia, a rustle in the brush nearby saw her almost drop her burden, shuddering and picking up her speed. She could feel the weight of eyes on her back—hungry, lusting eyes that seared and froze all at once. She and Einar were not alone in the woods this night.

Within a couple chimes, the tigress was stumbling back into the cave, the freshly cut firewood clattering to the floor in her haste to relieve herself of it. Pupils wide in excitement and fear alike, Zavya took Einar by the arm and pointed outside.

“Something’s in the woods,” she murmured, golden eyes catching and reflecting the meager light that seeped into the cave. “And it ain’t no petching raccoon this time.”
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[Belugnir]

55th of Winter, 518 AV, Woodlands near the Northern Outpost:

Having undone most of Finnard's baggage, Ein went about unpacking his tent, the rest of the furs, arranging some rocks into a firepit far enough from the cave entrance to keep it away from the rain, and went on with his usual chores for whenever they'd be setting up camp... Soon and sure enough he came by the cavern springs to refill their waterskins. It was winter, and he most certainly expected the waters, both still and running to be rather refreshingly cold... what he did not expect was for the thin iron-cased hem of the container to snap apart, frozen, after but a couple ticks of being placed within the short sterams that went between the stair-wise springs... he pulled the waterskin out of the water to see it hardened with a nip of frost... And there wasn't enough time to wonder at the occasion, when he realized the sensation of the severed wolven limbs he wore as a mantle beginning to eerily sway about him... in a tall cavern absent of wind.

He was already rising up from the ground, eyes wide in trepidation looking at the darkening forests that surrounded their clearing, when Zavya had come bolting to his side. Had the edge of his gaze not seen her approach, he'd have pulled a dagger out on her at the tug she made at his arm... Instead he simply began striding back to the firepit, hastily scooping up the deadwood she'd dumped into the cavern along the way.

''Get the oil and linen.'', was the only instruction given as he began snapping twigs in half and piling them together to make a fire... The last vague vestiges of bygone sunlight had just died out on the horizon, and Ein felt his teeth clenching in vexation.

Have I not enough shyke on my hands as is...?

Obsidian gauntlets came off with a grim focus. He drove his tired mind to pull upon its frustrations and use the exasperation he felt in his recent state as fuel. As soon as Zavya would have come over to the firepit with linen and oil, tar soaked straps would be wrapped about a pair of twigs, and Ein would hastily begin to pour part of himself out, liquid ember belching from the palms of his bare hands. He wasn't going to waste a tick fiddling with damp flintstone. Having reimanced up a pair of torches with a painful grunt, he tucked them into the firepit, adding oil upon the pile of wood on top of it all. Flame roared to life beneath his hands, yet he wouldn't waste a tick marveling at it either.

''Either put on your tail and claws or find that gambenson I got you.'', he didn't even look at the girl, instead scraping his gauntlets from the ground and shoving them back on, fast astride back toward Finnard. In his inward spiral of foulness, Ein had gone back to an old habit, keeping the new armor he recieved with a nudge of aid from Elias on... for days on end, sleeping in it, even, on the rare occasions when he did... well sleep... But there was another gift he'd not yet made use of, he'd never once even unveiled it after taking it out of the smithy. It took undoing a couple wraps, and the cloth that was bundled about it fell off, revealing a plain, curved scabbard with an equally plain, long handle and crossguard crowning it. A messer sword of simple, effective design. Made to last, weighted and sharpened to bite deep with a single edge, and slice apart limb and bone if swung by so much as a toddler.

Had Zavya taken up the gambenson and what spare, old armor from his previous set Ein still peddled around, he would have tucked the sword at her, had she turned to her kelvic form for the reckoning to come, he'd simply have strapped the weapon to his own belt, taking up his poleaxe, pulling and buckling on the helmet that normally rested abandoned in Fin's saddlebags... and felt his hair damp with cold sweat beneath the headpiece.

They'd straddled up at least two days of hard walking from the outpost. There was no running away... And after the swift half a chime of gearing up, Ein would have finally looked out into the darkened forests before them.

Aptly enough, as he rose his visor and held out a burning twig with his spare hand, he saw shimmers of cyan staring back from the treeline that had molded together into a vast fence of shadow, swaying along with the howling wind...

Yet the stares... and the raspy, hissing, tittering choirs were more than one.

A pair of triplets and a singular quartette of shimmering, distorted eyes stared into the amber-lit spring cavern... too far apart within the forest's edge to belong to a single entity.

''Fiends and felines in our home...''

''Be gone!''

''Away with thy cinders and fumes.''

''Away...''

''Away, away, away!''

The voices all at once spoke, intertwining yet clear each in their own right. Growling, wickedly chrotling, wailing and begging all in the same nightmarish breath.

The sets of eyes shining from the shadow, and the malformed visages that hosted them began a chaotic, slow approach, walking one way and another, as if to measure up their prey as they ever so unnervingly slowly crept closer to the flicker of firelight.

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[Zavya]

Get the oil and linen.

Zavya’s very blood froze when Einar spoke those words, flashing back with vivid recall to the first night they’d ever met. The monstrosity of ice and shadow, a beast woven from the threads of nightmares themselves, was one that haunted her own nocturnal hours more frequently than she’d care to admit. Fire, she remembered, hastily grabbing the pack full of lantern oil, throwing it open, and bringing it over to the human. It was weak to fire.

A shudder of foreboding ran up and down her spine as she watched the fire leak from his palms. If that was what was out there… were they even going to make it through the night? There was no Valdinox hunter here to save her this time; should they fare as “well” as they did before, she and Einar would bleed out in the woods before help could ever find them. No wonder the man had insisted on bringing so much oil. She had a feeling she’d be thankful for that foresight later.

Within the next few ticks, a bright light filled the cave, tiger taking the place of human and a low growl rumbling through the air. Given the choice between fighting as a woman or fighting as a beast, she knew which option she’d choose every time. Even had she time to try to struggle into that dratted coat, she knew how much more effective she could be without it. Her teeth and claws were near as durable as steel and with her wielding them, just as deadly. Now was no time to be fumbling about with a weapon she scarce understood. With their lives on the line, Zavya knew three hundred extra pounds of muscle and vicelike jaws would serve her far better than a metal fang and some flimsy cloth ever could.

The Kelvic gathered her nerve and squashed her fear, turning toward the cave mouth with her tail twitching in agitation behind her. However, the sight that met her eyes was almost enough to send her screeching in the other direction. Vision made for the dark revealed there was not one, not two, but three of those atrocities staring back at them, numerous cold eyes examining them with the chilling precision and intelligence no monster that fearsome should ever possess.

Golden eyes filled with horror turned in Einar’s direction when those unearthly voices penetrated her ears, her gaze asking the question feline lips couldn’t form: What the hell are we going to do?! One nearly killed us both and now there’s three?! Her very skin quivered as she beheld those dreadful visages, her leg twinging in memory of the monster’s jaws nearly tearing it asunder. Granted, she actually had torn one of its limbs off, but it hardly seemed comparable. After all, two more had grown back in its place.

Panic will serve you no good now, she told herself firmly, taking several deep shuddering breaths as her gaze flicked between each set of glowing orbs. Panic will only get you killed. You might die either way, but you don’t even stand a chance if you panic now. Another growl built in her throat, forcing the fear back and bringing anger to the forefront. That’s better. Rage. Better to go out swinging and biting than shrinking and sniveling.

Zavya started reviewing her options as the trio closed in, bold, but still wary of the hastily built fire. She watched their halting procession without blinking, the grotesque movements in an unsettling tandem that set every nerve of her body afire. We know they don’t like fire or light, she thought, holding her ground even as one skirted dangerously close to the cave’s mouth. There’s only so much I can do with fire in this form. Burning myself won’t serve us much good. Molten eyes roamed over spindly legs, the closest thing to a grimace that a tiger could summon crossing her face. Tearing at limbs won’t do much but make it worse. But the eyes… Warm gold contemplated chilling blue, taking a cautious step closer to the blaze. Everything is weak around their eyes. Harder to find your opponents when you’re blind. She pawed the ground with another growl. But there’s still three of them. Not like we can blind them all at once.

An unnerving hiss pierced the frosty air, the smallest of the monsters stopping only a few paces from where she stood. “Pretty little kitty,” it seethed in her direction, its disjointed movements only adding to its sense of wrongness. “Hiding behind your blaze and light. Come, kitty, come, show your fangs to the night…”

She growled in return, firelight reflected in glowing irises of furious gold. The tigress lowered herself closer to the ground, muscles bunched and tensing as she prepared to pounce, to run, to strike… whatever she had to do to make sure she kept breathing for another chime. A distorted face glared in her direction, its expression alien and altogether horrifying in the predatory way it assessed her. That another should dare to consider her as prey… she bared her teeth at the thought, her jaws parting on a thunderous roar that echoed off the stone of the cavern. Unblinking gold eyes never left the creature’s, her front paws pounding against the ground. These things could taunt and tease and threaten all they wanted; Zavya was no stranger to the game of intimidation. If that was the contest it wanted, that’s what it would get.

An ear-shattering scream filled the wood in response to her roar, the cat yowling as the sound tore at delicate eardrums threatening to burst. That scream ended in a laugh, an unnatural laugh nearly as disturbing as the scream itself. The Kelvic hardened herself against the sound and, instead of another roar, took her paw and smacked a blazing log out of the fire, flinging it in the direction of the hound’s face. It careened back with another wail, its fellows howling and jumping back as it did.

“Fires die, and so will you,” the larger one promised in a bone-chilling rasp, the breath from its maw seeming to freeze the very air itself. “You cannot hide in there forever!”

As if to prove its point, a massive rock came hurtling her way, pulled from the ground and flung into the cave by the same monstrous arms that had used the very trees against them. Zavya only just managed to evade the projectile enough to keep her head on her shoulders, though a jagged edge sliced her ribs on its way by.

Mother petcher! she thought with a snarl, dodging a rather large branch that followed in its wake. It’s right. The fire will die, we’ll be cornered, and Einar and Zavya will be nothing more than fond memory as our flesh fills the bellies of Rhysol’s twisted abominations. The tigress looked over at her human companion, hoping beyond hope he had some sort of plan for this. Gods knew she didn’t.

We’re well and truly screwed, aren’t we?
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[Belugnir]

Ein seldom had a reply to offer to the concerned glances the transformed tiger beside him cast his way... he seldom took note of her past turning his head away from the burst of light, buckling the scabbarded blade to his side and squinting on in exasperation at the sly shapes that moved outside their firelight. He hadn't the energy to spend on worrying... But kept plenty in store to be annoyed. Something that manifested rather neatly upon his features as the hounds began to jabber away, taunting Zavya, who went into an exchange of howls and hollers that hadn't seemed to end in her favor... And finally, Ein had to move from the spot where he'd stanced up, measuring the boldest of the hounds that had crept as close as it did before all three of them were set back by a single burning log, back to their hissing choir of cryptic shyke, only now they'd began hurling stones at them to answer Zavya's courtesy...

Yet that was the thing... rocks and stones. Not boulders... Tiredly ducking away from flying debree, Ein thought back to the night he'd first met Zavya, and to the malformed abomination they'd fought... He'd gotten a good look at one of the dogs when they drew close to the fire a moment ago... Six limbs or less... eyes barely at the height of his own chest... And unlike the night horror they fought that night... these things spoke, and mocked and taunted... and the way they reeled back at a fire as minescule as the one the pair had made with a smattering of wood...

No, these hounds were not the same... they were petty... they were weak... Lesser than even the first one of their kind he'd faced... whose hide he'd paid for with his head and turned into the mantle he now wore.

''Out of shyke to toss?'', Ein grinned out into the dark with grim glee in his voice after nearly a full chime of barely keeping out the way of flying stones. There was little point in hiding. Unless they'd be willing to burn down every last ounce of food and gear to keep their fire alive, Ein and Zavya had mayhaps less than a bell of flame to work with. And the night had just begun.

His taunt was answered by a pause, soon to be accompanied by darting echoes of hissed tittering.

''Cinder-fiend thinks himself witty...''

''Is it not tired?'''

''Has it slumbered well lately?''

''Its coat promised it long slumber, did it not?''

''Yes, yes, in a worm-cradle... with mudden sheets, yes, we will give it slumber...''

Knowing mockery seeped from their voices like poison, and upon hearing them, Einar's face lit up with realization, a moment of wide-eyed shock and thinning lips causing ever more thunderous cackles to pound from the black wolves' bellies.

What Einar felt as his expression shaded back into ambiguity was vast... it went beyond proper frustration and fury, to the point of exhausted bliss... and then circling right back to cynical wrath again.

''Oh...'', he simply sneered, frantically breaking a flask of oil over the head of his poleaxe before sticking the weapon into the humble campfire and pulling it out, cold steel ablaze. He could feel the very last ounce of blood within his body pulsating through muscles that already strained in anticipation of what was to unfold within a breath... And so he stepped forward from the safety of firelight.

Ecstatic cyan eyes narrowed in place of daggers grinning at the aggravated man's approach. They had won, he came forward from his frail fortress of light, wielding but a flicker of fire, easily extinguished, and so they leaped forward, to snuff out the ounce of light, break the limbs that held it, and gorge themselves upon the armored corpse.

Einar rammed his poleaxe leftward, both hands coming together upon the long handle in the midst of its lunge, twisting it as it became jammed inside the writhing belly of a howling hound, and continuing the motions of both their bodies, swinging the skewered monsters weight over to crash into its kindred. Flux and hysteria funneled into Einar the strength that the weakness of men's bodies locked away, strength that would tear its own flesh and tendons asunder and break the bones that held it together should it be misused any more. But he did not care. Beneath plate and gambenson, Einar's entire being contorted, and at the memory of all the things he'd witnessed and remembered within his nightmares of the passing month, the mangled face within the frame of his helmet twisted into something so horrid and unnatural that sight would come back to the blind, if only so that they could witness it and cower.

Impaling one Gaur and flinging it into another, he abandoned the blazing weapon stuck within the monster's ribcage in favor of the heavy messer at his hip. One wild swing straight out of the sheath and he felt the cold steel biting through hide and bone, nearly severing a massive clawed limb meant for the back of his head above its lanky elbow. And as the Gaur reeled backward in dismay, Einar took hold of its mauled limb and with one savage jerking motion of his own arm, wrenched the rest of the way to tearing the malformed arm free of the hound, before breaking the bones that rested within across the creature's face, a cold-steaming mess of tarnished blod flying senselessly amidst the night. In a mad flurry, panting and wailing, would Einar go on alternating between bashing the maimed monster with its own severed limb and the heavy cutting sword that kept biting into its flesh while its crippled body hadn't the balance nor the openings to bite back or claw its way through the heavy armor that hugged this berserk madman's body.

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[Zavya]

Zavya was nearly paralyzed by her companion’s display of half-remembered power he’d brandished in their first encounter, rage and unnatural strength propelling the man forward and driving him to beat senseless the creatures that would disturb their peace. However frightened, the Kelvic was impressed, and felt, not for the first time, a kinship with the man that fascinated Zavya as much as he frustrated her. The tigress could well understand wrath and ferocity; of the many things she couldn’t comprehend, these things were two she knew all too well. And so she took strength from Einar’s fight, grasping that fury and infusing it into her own. He might have two of them under control, but that still left one more.

A growl rumbled in the tiger’s throat when she advanced forward, the third creature skulking and hissing over its beaten brothers. It stood poised to join the fray, shadows warping and coalescing around its ghastly form. Oh, no, you don’t, she thought with a snarl, leaping forward just as it made its move.

Violently, she collided with the monster, sending both of them tumbling end over end—away from the cavern and the safety of its fire. It snapped at her as they rolled, icy teeth tearing at the skin of her shoulder and claws ripping for her gut. Zavya screeched in pain, but didn’t let go; she couldn’t let it join back up with the others. The beasts seemed to have some sort of connection… a peculiar kind of strength they pulled from the others. If she could keep them separated, surely she could handle this one on her own. While she worried for the safety of her human warder, she’d seen firsthand what he was capable of. He seemed to have his own battle well in hand.

At last, they came to a halt, the pair slamming into a tree that impeded their progress with painful emphasis. Frantically writhing back and forth, Zavya managed to free herself of the hound’s claws and fangs, roaring as she shoved her own paw toward the creature’s face. Claws swiped over frozen eyes, three of them popping like grapes with the force of her swing. A lurid wail rent the night, icy blood trickling down the Gaur’s face and freezing in its fur. The Kelvic didn’t let herself bask too long in her triumph, moving instead to circle her quarry, even as it lashed out at her with unbridled fury.

The creature’s paw caught the same foreleg that had been nearly severed by one of its brethren, ripping open old scars where it struck. Zavya faltered, stumbling as she yowled. "We will finish what our brother started, yes, we will," the thing hissed in its unearthly voice, the tigress gritting her teeth and fighting through the pain. It advanced forward while she careened back, victory certain in its lofty gaze. "No fires to help you now…"

No fire, maybe, the Kelvic thought with a grim sort of pride. But I have light.

Taking a deep breath, a flash filled the wood to replace the tiger with a bloodied human. Just as it had done with the much larger hound from before, her transformation stunned the beast just long enough for her to jump on its back and dig her hands into its throat. Another burst of light turned fingers to talons, freezing blood flowing in rivulets over striped fur while bones crushed within her grasp. By the time the monster came back to its senses, it was too late—teeth and claws alike ripping at flesh and turning the forest floor into a macabre mess of sanguine fur and severed limbs.

The Gaur swung out in its death throes, wildly thrashing hard enough to fling her from its back and send her sprawling across the ground. Crippled and broken, it limped to where she lay, the tigress panting and struggling to regain her footing. One of its remaining legs came down on her throat, the creature collapsing on top of her and aiming to steal her breath while it fought to keep its own.

Edges of her vision going black, Zavya growled and bucked, though the monster kept its grip. Chimes passed with her fight slowing, struggling to breathe through the vicelike hold it maintained on her throat. Summoning the last bit of will she could, the Kelvic managed to shift one more time—a much smaller human taking the place of the tiger and rendering the Gaur’s grip on a larger neck ineffective. The hound stunned once more, she managed to crawl out from under it with a massive choking cough. Golden eyes quickly scanned the area, lighting with victory upon finding a large fallen branch already sharpened in its break from the tree.

Grabbing it up before the Gaur’s paralysis wore off, she used the last bit of strength she could summon to shove the tree limb through the hound’s throat—listening to the satisfying crunch of bone and tendon alike as she impaled it to the ground. By the time it was able to move again, the creature had nearly bled out; hate-filled crystalline eyes meeting hers before a gurgling breath was exhaled, and those unnerving orbs went dark.

A shuddering sigh of relief was all Zavya could manage, slumping to her knees in the dirt beside it. Battered, bloodied, and bruised from head to toe, the Kelvic could hardly do more than shiver while she gazed upon its ruined countenance. It’s over, she thought, hardly believing she’d succeeded. Or at least I hope so… Her head perked up, looking toward camp and clawing her way to her feet, while her legs swayed and threatened to give beneath her. What about the others?

Einar!
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[Belugnir]

I...

Will give you...

Worms...

And mud!

Einar barely had an ounce of mind to spend on the greatest of three hounds, who would have easily taken his head off all over again had Zavya not shoved into it and tumbled on 'till they slammed into the treeline together. Nay he was far too focused on taking his anger out on the dismembered monster.

Finally, amidst his wild flailing, after striking its owner again and again, the severed limb he used as a club tore in two as it came upon the beast's softened skull... And the Gaur found its opening to do more than haplessly attempt to strike the armored savage. In one desperate swing, the eviscerated, bleeding creature swatted Einar away with the back of its remaining forelimb, pouring into it mass from the rest of its body, sending him flying belike a rag doll, to the point where he fell flat onto his back, bouncing off the ground, and rolling over beside the skewered Gaur.

Had he not worn a second skin of hardened steel and a thick padding of gambenson beneath it, it was more than likely half the bones in him would have been broken along the way, though the armor could seldom help keep the air within his bosom once it was forced out so brutishly... Only, the numbing sensation of all his innards being shaken, the blinding disorientation of being hurled about belike a yarn ball, the iron ring of breathlessness that clutched his chest... hadn't halted him.

Frothing at the mouth, feet and clawing hands digging up the ground beneath him as he fought the lingering momentum that had sent him flying, Einar locked eyes with the wailing creature that had his poleaxe entombed between its ribs, laid upon its side in desperate attempts to move to its feet whilst its ghastly flesh softened and began to melt away from the poisonous heat that had been jammed into its heart... Einar locked eyes with it... and savagely flailed the tarnished blade in his hand across its face, forcing it to reel its head backwards, screeching with blinding pain, revealing its chest, and allowing Ein to grab hold of the long shaft that yet portruded from it.

Steaming with the dying warmth of the fire that hugged it moments ago, the poleaxe was wrenched from the creature's torso, senselessly ripping out bones and innards as it was pulled away and leveled at Ein's hip, pike aimed at the stumbling Gaur that had just hurled him a dozen paces across the meadow.

Ein's bones rattled in wake of the charge he committed to, wheezing while his chest, depraved of breath, felt more and more as if it would implode upon itself with every tick... Yet when he saw proper fear in the wounded beast's posture, a maddening grin fought its way onto a face contorted to something unnatural in the midst of crippling pain. Escatic was the feeling of ramming the poleaxe into the Gaur's side, carrying his momentum on, dragging the monster across the ground ahead of him, sliding the curved blade in his other hand under its chin... and there was no describing the satisfaction he felt even as the hound's rolling over on its side sent him tumbling above it, grabbing hold of the sword jammed into its lower jaw with both hands... Even as Ein came crashing to the ground again, nearly blind and deaf with ringing, searing pain that voicelessly screamed to burst out of him, he had the sense to feel and hear the crunching of bones as the hound's neck twisted under the levrage of the sword in his hands and the weight of his own body... and its head lifelessly turned upside down... and wheezing, choking laughter came to the man.

The time in which he got back to his feet, clawing at his battered chest, inhaling as if he'd never known the sweetness of air before, all while fighting back his own mindless tittering... it made the long distant sunrise of the coming day seem imminent.

His armor was unbuckled at just about every joint, more so hanging off of him than fitting onto his form... the gambenson beneath it was busted in many places where the metal above would have bit into his skin under the force that had battered him around the field... Save for the leather belts that held them together, his outward armaments were plenty preserved... but the man beneath them was horribly bruised, and blood found its way past raptured skin, leaking through torn textile and over forged steel, dripping its way slowly to soak the ground... Somehow he pulled off his helmet and dumped it to the side, sweat-soaked hair scattering about the crown of his head, obscuring his already blurred vision...

Yet even so, his eyes fell upon a ghastly visage, the disemboweled Gaur had somehow gotten to its feet, and began helplessly dragging its failing, dissolving body away in a pitiful attempt at escaping...

As she made way back from her own narrow victory, Zavya would come upon the sight of Einar, limping, stumbling and flailing belike a cripple, having freed his weapons from the corpse of the second of three brethren, and making his way over to the last surviving one.

Wide-eyed, murderous joy flared up on his face while he bashed his poleaxe into the limping Gaur's legs, beating its footing from under it and setting it helpless on the ground, stabbing the curved sword into the muscles that joined its jaws together, and driving it through, into the ground upon which the creature laid... making sure it could not so much as yowl anymore, let alone bite or move its head... Then he leaned his face into the hound's own, leering.

''Is it not tired?... Has it slumbered well recently?'', steam poured forth from his mouth amidst feverish mockery, the muscles of his neck wiring up beneath his skin when he stepped away, arcing the poleaxe over his head.

I... will give... you... slumber!'', the first three strikes of the axehead he brought down had already severed the monster's head well enough for it to be inarguably dead... but Ein hadn't stopped there, he went on swinging, flailing, stomping, and he would go on, until the hound's already decaying carcass became a puddle of mush under his blows, until he dug through its body to the ground upon which it was laid dead... until Zavya would raise either hand or voice to have him cease.

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[Zavya]

Silently did she watch Einar’s display of unhinged wrath, his features distorted with something close enough to madness to make an uneasy shudder roll down her spine. After a chime or so of watching the man beat the Gaur into nothing more than a bloody pulp, Zavya at last broke through the trees, calling his name in a vain effort to halt his motions.

“Einar!” she shouted, stepping forward, though the human seemed not to hear. “Einar!” she yelled once more, this time with a bit more force. Again, no effect.

Stumbling and limping all the way, the Kelvic shook her head and made her way to his side, grabbing his arm where it held the poleaxe mid-swing. “Einar, stop!” she entreated him, aiming to tug his elbow enough to stop the progress of his weapon. “It’s finished! They’re dead. You can stop now.”

Should her hand have calmed his hysteria, she’d step in closer, gently prying his fingers from around the hilt of the weapon. Carefully removing the polearm from his grasp, she would set it to the side before turning to face him more fully. Inhaling a deep breath, the metallic scent of salt and copper filled her nose. Pupils dilating, Zavya looked up at her companion and released that same breath with a murmured, “You’re hurt.”

So was she, but upon seeing (and smelling) the evidence of his own wounds, she hardly seemed to feel it—tugging at the loose buckles that barely held his armor in place. Thoughtlessly, she tossed it aside, hissing at the sight of crimson soaking the cloth beneath. She couldn’t tell exactly where the blood was coming from, but there was so much of it. What if he bled out? What would she do? She had to fix it. Just like he’d fixed her.

I'm in a fit, eh? Then I expect you to be tossing up an equal one over me when some cocksucker inevitably shafts me with an arrow or some shyke like that, you hear?

All of her recent animosity against him vanished in the wake of her worry, a drawn-out whine escaping her lips as she pulled him back toward the cavern. She’d heard water gurgling deeper inside their shelter for the night, and they were going to need plenty of water. Maybe the wine, too. Wasn’t that what he’d done with her that night? Alcohol and water?

Stepping back inside the cave, she grabbed up a bottle with her free hand and continued to guide him back toward the echoing sound that caught her attention before. A trickle of water began toward the mouth of the cave, slowly widening its reach the further in they went. Throughout the shuffling walk, she remained quiet, sparing him more than a few worried glances along the way. He was still upright and conscious, so at least there was that. But gods, he looked terrible. It bothered her more than it ought to.

Finally, they came upon a small pool, the water moving gently from an unseen force. Steam wafted up from its surface, a pleasant warmth filling the air. The tranquil scene was an unexpected delight, Zavya blinking in surprise. Hot water? she thought with the hint of a smile. Even better…

Glancing at Einar, she tugged at the stained fabric of his gambeson. “Off with it,” she demanded, a little gruffer than she intended.

Slowly, Zavya sank to her knees, wincing when they struck the ground. Leaning down, she splashed water over her own bloody arms before her eyes widened in shock at her reflection. Gods, I look as bad as he does, she thought before sluicing the warm liquid over her sooty face. Coming back up, she shook her head at the image that looked no cleaner than before. Well, this is useless.

Shifting her weight, the tigress slid into the spring toes first, skin raising in goosebumps where the water encased her. It felt like paradise discovered, Zavya dipping her head back to rinse the filth from her hair, as well. Only a few ticks later, she came back up for air and gazed toward her companion. Lifting a dripping hand, she beckoned him to join her, another smile threatening to break over her face.

“Come on,” she urged him, her voice surprisingly light in spite of her lingering worry. “You’re all over dirt. Why bring it to you when you can just come to it?”
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[Belugnir]

A numb shout whispered upon the back of his head...

And again, only closer...

He felt a gentle tug upon his elbow.

''It's finished! They're dead. You can stop now.''

Finally, Einar lifted his eyes from the blackened, liquid ruin of a corpse upon the ground, to behold Zavya, through a blurry, distant veil, smudged with blood and dirt, uttering muted fright against the dull ring of his own heart in his ears. Long moments it took for Einar to finish lowering his poleaxe, to blink away part of the mist from his eyes, and to bring down the savage heaving of his chest.

''You're hurt.''

A somber, apologetic curve shifted the man's mouth, unifying sorrow and joy while the girl pried his weapon away from fingers that curled and twitched at the mere notion of another's touch.

''We...'', he hiccuped up a speck of blood. ''We've... both been... worse, I imagine.'', the witty nod he gave wasn't so much a gesture as it was his head submitting to its own weight. He losened the bonds of djed that strained his muscles on past exhaustion, and felt the ground beneath his feet move waywards, until the frightful haste of losing one's footing saw him reach to Zavya and coil an arm around her to keep himself afoot.


He could not remember ever reaching out to another for help. In anything.

Nor could he decide on the purpose of that bellyful of tender noise that left the girl as she went on sizing his battered frame up and sniffing the Gaur's blood off of him. He couldn't quite tie it to any human voice he'd ever heard... was that how tigers express concern... or was she just moaning 'cause she was sick of his shyke...?

And likewise, Ein couldn't help but feel belike an old, useless sack as the girl, injured herself, as she were, helped him over to the caverns, seated him up, and spent a good couple of chimes freeing him from the loosened set of armor... Nor could he help but notice the thin strokes of steam that began to make way from deeper within the cavern as they began to make way toward it.

He found himself awakening from every blink he took while Zavya tested the waters that ran icy but chimes ago... and with every brief fading of consciousness, he found himself sinking deeper and deeper into contentment. No longer did the busy, diseased and indifferent streets of his home bestow themselves upon his lack of sight, no longer did he hear the echo of his own infant whimpers, no longer did chains scrape in his ears... for now, at least, he was free of bereaving and woe.

With a sleepy smile, he opened his eyes again to find Zavya submerged in a pool of water, steaming amidst the cold stones that hugged it, and shedding away the dried crust of blood and soil from the girl. For a while he simply looked back at her, taking thrice the time he should have to digest the instructions she'd spoken to him, lazily dragging himself up from his seat.

''What...'', a tang of teasing came to his voice before his head disappeared beneath the collar of his gambenson, in a chime long struggle to pull the blood-soaked thing off. ''...not going to undress me?'', his witticism was followed by him aptly failing to lean on his own hands properly as he hunched over the pool, and introducing himself face first to the waters, flailing arms that were still trapped within a wrinkled gambenson beneath him, belike some clumsy toddler.

It was a couple of panicked backward kicks thrown into thin air before he came to accept the hotspring as he would a pile of soft pillows. Horribly satisfying to lob your head into... and a quick way to suffocate if you don't pull it back out eventually.

Inevitably with Zavya's help, Ein would soon have moved on from endearingly drowning to laying sprawled beside the spring, chrotling to himself belike a dimwit. Eventually, he would have slipped out of his boots and trousers as well, and slid himself into a seat by the water's edge, leaning eagerly upon the rocks behind him. The mercenary practically moaned his joy away when the hot waters came to encapsulate the crevices of his tattered body.

It would quickly become apparent why he'd rarely, if ever before given the girl a chance to look upon him undressed... why he'd likely never opt to do so with a clear mind. Like her, he had plenty of scars netting about his body... to the point where they could be considered a complexion of their own, lapping one over another, from a vast array of causes and occasions... the uncanny thing was, however, the majority of his upper body on the left side. It looked as if someone had taken a torn, ragged half of a fresh corpse and then seamlessly sewn it together with a living body, entwined with an occasional ounce of still healthy skin that wasn't torn across its own layers, and it would be the first time Zavya would ever get a clean, plain display of the horrible gnarled scar that span the girth of his neck and yet bit into the thick skin upon it.

As for the calamity of that particular evening, most of the crimson that weighted down his busted gambenson was that of the Gaur, as it turned out, and Ein himself had only so many moderate lacerations, as much as blunt force could cause to calloused skin, really... which wasn't to say he was at all well beneath the... searing bruising he'd recieved from the hounds. Frankly it felt as if the last bone in his body had been broken and then stitched back together just so it could be broken again in new places... The hysterical fluxing he resorted to combat his bodily exhaustion had hardly helped any. His entire body ached so maddeningly that it circled around to making some semblence of sense... And thankfully, Ein still had sense enough in him to be concerned over his ward's own injuries, albeit all he could do for her at the time was helplessly tilting his head to gawk at the reopened scars left by the first nightmare they'd braved together.

''I don't think... I'll be able to bandage you up as well as last time.'', he admitted with a friendly, yet bitter smirk, somehow turning the stillness of his arms, hung limply within the water, into a gesture.


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