A Test of Savagery [Training]

[Sorian]

[Intention: To train in Unarmed Combat and Wilderness Survival] [Current Levels: 30 and 10 respectively] Some night during winter, 509 AV The fields of alternating green and white rustled and boomed across the horizon with the echoing sounds of blows, knocks and falling trees, waking and alerting every hiding animal that lingered in the sparse forests surrounding the Sea of Grass. It was not a safe night for any and every creature to be out in the open, and a lot of the smaller creatures actually fled, having learned just what sort of creature was making those blows. Blows that could strike down trees and destroy boulders. These were blows out to crush, to mangle, to grind, to kill. The forests' great, thick shoots somewhat obscured an eerie shade which moved across the woods with superhuman speed, a shadow which emerged in a streak of unmistakable blue to gravitate across the grassy plains and wintry snowfields, jumping over every obstacle in his way with such poise and grace despite the massive mass which coordinated them. The sound of padded quicksteps wheeled right through the otherwise silent landscape, and the pale luminescence of the moon shone like an avid spectator upon a terrible sight that night, one that bore witness to the true gifts which the Night Mother had bestowed upon her children, the usually noble Akalak. This particular Akalak had been living off the lay of the land more than the others of his kind, the feral nature of his Night Mother having grown more consuming for him than most. In order to survive in the harsh wilderness of Cyphrus, one has to kill. And to live, he was more than willing to. He was happy to. He had been on the hunt for days now, preparing his body for the kills to come. While he seemed more animal than Akalak now, he still retained all the years of knowhow and wilderness survival instincts which he had acquired in his earlier days of sanity. the tactical pursuits in his mind still comprehensible and more than employable. This time however, he was simply out for the chase, out to live, out to kill. When the moonlight touched the skin of the ferociously quick creature, the details of his sinews and muscles would reveal themselves, ever twisted into convoluted networks across his body. Every stress of strength that pumped into them made them grow bigger, and made him go faster, and soon heavy beads of sweat were falling behind the locomotive visage. His arms, swinging alternately, were solid and thick as some massive snake specie. On his eyes could be seen a hunger that scoured each creature that was running full tilt for dear life before his path, and soon he had found the unfortunate prey that he was going to rip to shreds. The creature he had chosen was by no means a tame prey, yet it was running away from him all the same. It was a very large Glassbeak, perhaps around 300 pounds heavy, its razor sharp beak bristling with anger at the inconvenience which the blue monster had caused it. It was running at full speed, which would be at a staggering 60 miles per hour, yet it found itself having a hard time outrunning the speed demon closing in behind it. The Glassbeak's flight was unknowingly a death trap which the Akalak hunter had specifically designed, modifying typical hunting methods into a more proficient use. Driving the prey into an estuary by the Bluevein river, it found itself cornered by a wall of steep rock before it, and a herculean shadow looming against the moonlight behind it. Finally tiring of the chase and having been forced into a corner, the Glassbeak swung back and charged forward in desperate fury, its massive, talon-laden feet propping upwards for a deadly kick. The Akalak stopped dead in his tracks, ducking to avoid what would have been a piercing, bloody death for him, his iron-like fists burying themselves simultaneously into the great bird's ribcage. It staggered back, choking on the regurgitated remains of some poor sentient being that it had eaten just hours earlier. Its squawks of pain serenaded the rest of the more lucky creatures that settled to watch the duel--or rather, slaughter-- happen. Taking advantage of the vomiting and choking avarian's plight, the Akalak leaped with incredible precision and reach onto its back, raising his fists once more to deliver five crushing blows to its exposed head. The bird was dazed by this brutal assault, yet it continued to struggle, jumping around helplessly in a futile attempt to dislodge the blue titan on its back. The Akalak gladly obliged, licking his chops in a horrifying display which sent chills down the core of the other watching animals. With one last speeding lunge, the bird thrust forward, its beak flashing in the brief light of night that it was alloted. By the time a second had passed, the bird was hit by another huge blow to the face, then was grabbed by the neck. Knowing that his triumph was near, the Akalak lifted the bird with just one arm, his grip on the neck unyielding in its sheer power. The bird's sharp feet and talons kicked helplessly downwards, unable to project its legs forward to get a shot at its conqueror. Another five seconds passed, and the struggle stopped. With a triumphant, sadistic grin, the hunter's grip firmed, then twisted leftwards so that the neck was severed from the next neck bone it was supposed to be attached to. As a final brutal display of his conquest, he then siezed the bird by the feet on one hand, the head on the other, and pulled with all his might. Bones cracked, blood was splattered, and then it was done. The bird's body dropped limp on the ground at the Akalak's feet. Victorious once more, as he had been in countless battles over the years, the Akalak took one brief look at the dismembered and disfigured head, throwing it away casually into the distance, where it was picked up by a passing Snarlwing. He then straightened the fingers on his right hand and thrust it into the bloody remains of the bird, groping its innards in search of something. After a few seconds he pulled out the bird's heart, the severed veins still spurting blood all around it. With a demonic glint in his grin and eyes, the Akalak hunter sank his teeth into the tender organ, his eyes rolling to the top of his eyelids in pleasure till all that was there to be seen were the pale blues of both. He ate it greedily, his eyes remaining unblinking, and a horrible smile etched upon his lips. Once he was done he grabbed the dead carcass and started to pummel it with his fists once more, letting out a long and animalistic roar as he did. By the time his handicraft had come full circle, all that remained of the bird was a pulpy, beat up, bone-crunched torso and a pair of detached, scaly feet. The pair of useless wings it used to have had been smashed into the body's innards, and were almost invisible. The blue devil then raised his eyes up to the moon, his mouth still dribbling with blood, and a streak fell from his eye. A long, silver, dark blue tear. A roar then thundered across the great plains, a roar of anguish, one of deep, uncontestable sorrow.

[Sorian]

The next night. The entity was quietly brooding over its madness in a dark cave in the outer forests of Cyphrus, clutching his form together by the biceps as if trying to warm himself furiously against the cold. His bones were clattering, and his teeth were gritted together, but it was not the cold. Nay, for it was feral madness that was befuddling him. The hulking, blue mass had had his fill of the glassbeak carcass from last night, but it was not enough to satiate the blood lust that coursed through his angry veins. His mind was clearer now that he had eaten, but it was still definitely hanging over him like some annoying cloud. A necessity popped into his mind, eliciting a curious cackling from the bones that lined his enormous frame. The dark blue eyes darkened, and his wild, entangling hair began to fleet in the wind as he sallied from the forests into the plains once more, his intense sense of smell picking up a fresh scent. He needed something sentient to kill to satiate his abominable, feral urge. And he was going to get it. Luck--or ill luck rather--seemed to be in his favor that night, for the scent he had caught was that of weak, but crafty prey. A party of three men, all carrying long swords and wearing the colors of the human capital of Syliras were quietly traversing the grassy trails of the plains when the darkness began to stir with the blur of the monster's powerful form tearing through the empty grasslands. Broken Lakan in hand, he charged forth with overwhelming fury. The three realized the threat too late to even draw their swords quick enough to save the last man in their line, the crushing power of the blue terror's fists easily breaking his shoulder blades when the monster came crashing down on him. As the man screamed for help, his arms lying helpless in the grass, the other two drew their blades and shouted curses at the creature, dull words which he received with little effect. One of them rushed forth, a burning desire to kill the wild Akalak apparent in his wide-open eyes. A heavy swing of the burdensome blade drew nothing but air, for the massive body of blue was too quick, too agile for such a cumbersome weapon. Turning around in midair, --full, unbridled Akalak power and athleticism on display--another crushing punch veered and found its mark, and the man, who appeared to be some sort of mercenary or professional soldier, was blown away into a nearby rock, shattering both armor and will. Bated breaths from the two vanquished men began to echo in anticipation, the momentary silence scathing as the mighty demon of the plains squared off with the last remaining man, who steadfastly held his blade, putting all his faith and courage into it. The demon licked his chops; he could sense the man's anger, but he could also smell the fear seeping through him, represented by the heavy breathing and the heartbeats that seemed more like drums than sounds coming from a human organ. The silence was slain by the man's roar of fury, and he came charging with great skill. This man seemed to be the best among the three, for his first swing did draw blood, a cut grazing the constricting abdominal muscles that lined the creature's stomach. Empty, hollow eyes looked down at the tiny wound, watching as the fresh crimson trickled down to etch into his steel-like muscles. Instead of becoming even angrier, however, the creature's eyes seemed to flicker in delight, a terrifying, wicked smile carving out of his dead-blue lips. A shiver ran down the Sylirian soldier's back, his eyes transfixed into the hell that burned within the creature he was facing, and his long, blond hair flicked in the wind towards the distant mellows of safety in the cities of the east. The monster knew, as the three men knew, that it was too far away, and the party was too crippled. They had to fight, they have to kill it to survive into daylight. It was not to be so, for the monster took the initiative this time. The Sylirian soldier put up his blade with firm, armored hands, expecting the Akalak to come boring down on him from above. Instead of this however, it charged forth straight and true, the massive shoulder muscles tackling the armored man to the ground. The man was now helpless as well, his abdomen crushed by the mighty attack. Horrifying screams for help and curses at the Sylirian gods ringed like a requiem across the plains that night. As if decreed by the offended gods in itself, the Akalak proceeded to silence the landscape, the howling of the wind laced by the sound of chewing, gnawing, and the crunching of bone and metal.