Fighting Phantoms (Vanator)

[Irriari]

5th of Spring, 511 AV

Irriari strode through the Sea of Grass and marveled at the vast expanse of grass and foliage in front of her. It was nothing short of amazing, and truly sad that her brothers and sisters could not see the beauty in it like she did. Where she saw poisons, hiding places and traps they saw a mundane area, good only for direct combat. Few of her kind ever speculated on the usefulness of poisons, bows or rhetoric. It was a waste of time, they told her, and more than one of the Elders questioned her reasoning and sanity for not preferring her claws. The Valterrian had given them life and deadly weapons, not poisons or arrows, because those were for humans. It was a sound argument, but one she refused to listen to any longer. So here she was, out in the grasses at night and training once again.

She knew little about warming up, only that one should stretch before hand to reduce the risk of harm. Was that what her slave, Sevrai had said? It was something like that.

Irriari breathed in deeply and imagined her enemy before her, a Akalak warrior, intent on murdering her and her colony. The Akalak ran towards her, his blade raised high in the air. It was a feint, she was sure, so she dove to the right, careful to tuck her wings as she went. The steel sung through the air and Irriari jumped up, nearly missing a throwing knife that the phantom Akalak had thrown. She was slightly airborne now, and dove towards him with her claws outstretched ready to tear out his heart.

There was no blood to bathe in and no gore to stain the grasses. This was a hollow form of training, with no satisfaction. The enemies were unrealistic and deep down Irriari knew that it did little to help her. She sighed and began another round, this time, trying to imagine a realistic opponent.

[Vanator]

A steady stream of muttered profanities left the lips of the Ankal's son. He had been foolish, to remain in the Web so long. He had wandered too far from his companions, left his body exposed and ventured to close too the edge of temptation. He wanted to check on Kashik. He had been hunting for several days, and he thought often of his pregnant wife. So he slipped away from the party to walk the Web and locate his First Wife. He had found her, safely within the borders of Endrykas. He had wished to see Khiara, but he had yet to tie her to the Web. He would, but he wanted his Second Wife to be ready. She was not Drykas, and the Web was something of a mystery to outsiders. But he had lingered too long, always a danger when one tread the strands of djed that traversed the Sea of Grass. The beauty of the visions, the loved ones present and past one could find, was alluring and distracting. Time had passed quickly, and by the time Van had urged himself to return to his body, the sun had set. He arose with a start, quickly scanning the surroundings. Only his mare stood quietly nearby, eying him blankly. He missed his Strider. Having found his friends location before leaving the Web, Vanator mounted up and headed in their direction. Kalinda was not a Strider, unable to travel at the breakneck speeds of that breed, nor connect with the land to avoid obstacles in the dark. So the Drykas was forced to proceed at a careful pace. Luckily, Leth's light was bright that evening, providing a pale illumination to his unmarked path. Soon his keen eyes caught movement ahead, a large something moving in the grass, at times lifting from the ground completely. His heart froze as he caught the silhouette against the moonlight. The leathery wings were unmistakable. A Zith. Long buried misery, pain and hatred welled up within Vanator. Blood running cold, the human slid the battle ax from the loop in his yavis. He was in a precarious position. His paintedmount could not out run a flying Zith, like a Strider could. And it was only a matter of moments before the nocturnal-eyed creature spotted him. The Drykas steeled himself, ax gripped in his hands. He urged the mare forward.

[Irriari]

Irriari had attacked the air, and the phantom enemies it held for hours now, and she was becoming bored of the drill. Her muscles ached but she pushed herself to continue on, for one more opponent. She kicked forward, a decisively human move, and realized her mistake a second too late, as the shadow Myrian stabbed her in her gut. Such kicks left her off balance and utilized the claws on her feet poorly, if at all.

Irriari breathed in deeply as the phantom faded out of her view. Some in her colony called it the blood sight. It was the clamor of battle and the blood lust, all amplified, with ones sense heightened to match. It could make the weakest of her race formidable, and the strongest neigh unstoppable, though the lack of concern for the wounds they received in battle could be problematic at times. She had not gotten to the full blood sight, but even the smallest taste of violence made her feel lighter, happier and more alive than she had felt in days.

She heard it then, the faint plodding of a horses hooves, dulled on the grasses. Few wild horses were stupid enough to approach a Zith, especially one that may have looked like it was having a seizure. She let air fill her lungs slowly and willed herself to hold onto the blood sight for a little longer. Then, she turned towards the sound of the horses hooves.

A human armed with an axe approached her. He was tall, much taller than she, and the horse only made him seem more formidable. Irriari knew that her bow, forgotten on the ground a hundred feet away was too far to retrieve. He could chase her down and cleave her in two without a second thought. Did he know that his blonde hair glistened in the moonlight, and that she could see the anger in his eyes as clearly as if it were noon time? If he was angry at her already, chances are he knew enough about her race. The blood sight, in it's lesser form, did not cover all of her fear. She knew that this man was well armed, and her aching body, without her Night Leather Armor was too vulnerable. So she took to the sky, quickly, pushing up off the ground.

She hovered above him, enough so it would take effort for him to hit her with his axe, but not enough so that she would be too far away to react if he had anything else up his sleeve, and she presumed that he did. Her blood turned to ice as she wondered if he had a bow of his own. How well could he use it? She gathered her courage and spoke, letting the blood sight empower her voice.

“Human, do you truly want to die tonight? Why do you approach me with your silly weapon in hand?”

[Vanator]

Every nerve in Vanator's body was on edge, a tightening growing in his stomach. He knew she could see him, better than he could see her. That unnerved the Drykas, for the Zith appeared as a shifting silver maned shadow above him, the moonlight catching glimpses of her feminine form covered in a short gray fur, a massive set of leathery wings spread out behind her, beating in broad movements to keep her hovering over him and stirring the loose strands of his hair as he looked up at her. The human saw the dark claws, capable of disemboweling a man. Van used his knees to coax the horse around, moving to keep the creature in front of him. He shifted in his leather armor, wishing it covered more than his torso and shoulders. his leg brushed against the shortbow hanging from his yvas, knowing he would never get it in hand to use against the thing before she would be upon him. So Vanator simply maneuvered to keep the Zith out of reach for the moment, his ax still gripped tightly in both hands. Rage long thought quelled stirred within him, unbidden images of Tamar lying in the blood-stained grass, her eyes dull and lifeless as they stared back at him in death. He cringed to know the last thing those eyes had seen was the face of the vile Zith that had killed her. Once he had foolishly sought revenge against the Zith, any Zith. He had traveled to Din in hopes of finding peace in the murder of some of the wretched things, or to die trying. He barely escaped Din, but had brutally killed one of its denizens. Slaying the Zith did little to dispel the weight of his loss. Only the love of friends and his wives had been able to do that. No, he would not charge a Zith now, though he would love to kill her. He had a family, he had wives, he had a child to care for. This encounter would be ruled by caution and wisdom. To his surprise, the creature addressed him, its voice sharp and threatening. "Zith, I am simply traveling back to my encampment. What fault is it of mine if you chose to perform your antics in my path? And I would not take this hunk of iron and wood in my hand so lightly, for it has cleaved the flesh and shed the blood of your kind." The high emotion and disdain were thinly veiled in his voice. The horse beneath him was growing restless in the presence of the being lingering above them, and Vanator strained to bring it in line with his knees and heels. "Why do you play out here, alone? Why are you not in the company of your kind, who are too craven to move about without a swarm to protect them?"

[Irriari]

The warrior seemed on edge- his movements were measured, and Irriari knew that he was sizing her up just as much as she was him. The warrior guided his horse to the side, obviously trying to outmaneuver her as he gathered his thoughts. In truth, she was afraid of this warrior. Maybe it was simply the way he carried himself with his unwavering confidence and calm demeanor. Whatever it was, it was a far cry from the reaction of most humans. He did not run and hide, and she doubted he would be easy prey.

Irriari felt her claws, checking the poison she had coated them with earlier that day. It was starting to wear thin at the ends, where she had applied the least, but overall, it seemed to be faring well.

When the human finally looked towards her and spoke, she was hardly surprised by his response. He had killed one of her kind before, and with the very axe she had been fearful of. Which of her brethren had he killed? The rage was evident in his voice, and the wounds of the heart- whatever had caused him to kill, were dangerously close to the surface. She hissed loudly and spoke a phrase Zithanese quickly, when he insulted her practicing, and her race. She was not playing or dancing around stupidly as many humans did- she was training to kill anyone who opposed her, be they Akalak or human.

“Why am I not in the company of my kind? I do not need my colony to defend me, human. I can fight on my own. What about you, then? Do your families not move across the grasses in packs- too afraid of everything in plains and the night to be on your own?”

The grasses weren't harmless- she knew that, as each year, four or five of her colony ended up dead, not from the Akalak, but from the creatures in the grasses. Though her colony was only a half mile away by flight, she still had plenty of reason to worry, much as the humans did. It was a difficult decision to make- if she let him leave, he could shoot her or attack her from a distance, and then return to finish whatever was left. The opposite choice didn't seem much better, as she was already on edge and tired.

“How do I know you won't kill me, as soon as I let you go?”

She resisted the comment that would have inevitably followed the question. Humans did not take well to being called honor less or spineless, no matter how slimy they were.

[Vanator]

The tension was palpable as the two antagonists, Zith and Drykas, faced off. Their words were typical of such an encounter, thick with bravado and taunting. But they were not just vain, empty words. The braggadocious exchange afforded each an opportunity to gauge their opponent, to test their resolve, to identify weakness and to plan contingencies should the encounter turn to violence. Vanator's gaze did not leave the black eyes of the thing, watching for a flinch, a scowl, any indication that she was about to attack. "Very well, neither of us are fools, for we both live in the Grass. We both know there are dangers to both zith and human, and unwise is any being that travels the plains alone. Yet, here we both are, alone with none of our own kind to defend us." The drykas had never conversed with a zith, had never desired to, nor believed he ever would. Talking to one amounted to acknowledging their right to exist, which Vanator opposed with his very soul. Yet he sat atop his fidgeting horse, engaged in a dialogue with one of their females. He was disgusted at himself, and it stirred his ire. "Zith. You flatter yourself if you believe it is you that has the power to stop me or let me go free. You know my ax can cleave your head from your shoulders if you draw too near, and that I can shoot you through with arrows if you retreat. It is I that has the decision whether to kill you or let you go." Vanator made his boast with confidence, though in reality he knew even a female zith was very dangerous in a fight, and that, in the dim light, it was likely he could not hit her with an arrow at any distance. So the dance between the deadly foes continued. As she fluttered above, the pale white light of the moon illuminated her face. Though feral, the she-zith's features were disturbingly human. It was unnerving, the drykas did not want to concede any humanity to the monster. "Your kind killed my wife." The words were spat towards Irriari, dripping with a thinly contained hatred. Van's hands shifted on the haft of the battle ax, unusually sweaty and cramping from the death grip he had on the weapon.

[Irriari]

The human saw no reason to hide his emotions, she found. Anger, disgust and rage all swirled among his face with the movement of his eyebrows and the tight line his lips had formed. It was almost laughable, how little control he had over the emotions that coated his every word. How often had the Elders taught her of control on the battle field? It did seem like a paradox for any that knew her race well, but one could control chaos with the right attitude and dedication. Her own features remained passive for the most part, but her nervousness was shown in her constant fidgeting with her clawed hands, as she constantly checked the silky layer of pain that coated them.

Did the human enjoy speaking the obvious or was he simply leading up to a better point? He spoke again, reminding her that they were both alone. Then, he shifted back to the angry, brave words that she had come to associate with the man. Yes, he could cleave her in half, or shoot her if he desired. She was sure that both weapons were near and dear to him on the plains, but such boasts hardly bothered her. It was as her mother had called it, 'fake war'. Words and promises, threats and whispers... all of it had little meaning when it came down to a real fight and she was becoming tired of it quickly.

Finally, he said something of interest. A Zith had killed his wife? Irriari laughed in earnest now, not at the mans tragedy but at the fact that he took the killing so personally.

“A zith killed your wife? Why, humans have killed my brothers, sisters and cousins. Animals kill other animals, and life goes on human. You take it so personally. Has it become your quest to avenge her? I doubt you even know the colony in which the murderer resides. You know nothing about our race. Are we any worse than the slavers in Ravok? Or the cut throat thieves on the street? You do not chase after all of them, with reckless, stupid abandon as you do us. You hate us because we are different. No other race would draw such rage from you. And where has it gotten you? Is she alive now? Or are you away from your own kinsman, leaving them vulnerable to attack?”

She surveyed him before continuing

“Make up your mind, human. Decide what you wish to do, and where you want to go. I'm sick of these word games. You obviously can't see past your hate to grasp what's right in front of you.”

Irriari waited, her muscles more tense than before, knowing what she said could very well cause him to attack her. She would simply have to wait.

[Vanator]

Intelligence. In the back of his mind, Vanator knew the Zith were an intelligent race. But his perception of them was a carefully crafted image of the winged beings as evil, ruthless and monstrous. One did not hold civil conversations with them. They enslaved and devoured his kind. And it was true, that not only akalak, but drykas willfully killed zith on sight. Even as the zith laughed at him, not understanding the reason for her mirth, he itched to strike out at her. But a conflict had arisen, a conundrum within the man that chafed at his soul. Though he was angered, driven by a hatred that was not only bred into him as a drykas, but from personal loss, Vanator was not a bloodthirsty man without reason or insight. He was raised to lead, to see every situation from a wider angle, to discern deeper meaning, potential benefit and what is right in all his dealings. That son of an Ankal now spoke louder in his hear. Individual versus collective. Was this she-zith guilty of the crimes of her people? She had compared both of their races to animals, part of the natural cycle of the grasslands. killing as part of an order of things. Vanator was not ready to accept that. He understood what she meant. He had lost cousins and an uncle to the dangers of the plains, and though he mourned them, Van understood it was the way of life in Cyphrus. But when Tamar was taken from him, his life was ripped apart, his heart torn out. It was the depth of her loss that made the difference, that incriminated every zith for her murder. It was not the sound thinking of a leader of men. To his surprise, he found an interest, a desire to exploit this opportunity to explore the mind of a zith. "Word games? Indeed, lets cut to the heart of the matter. I do not know if you zith have feelings, if you know love, or have any attachment to your family or those in your colony. It is clear you have no concern for that among your victims. It is true, like it or not, we are part of a bigger picture in the land that we share. You prey on us and we hunt you down. You can call that status quo and acceptable." The drykas watched the creature hovering, noting how she caressed her claws in agitation. "And in the end, you and I may fight, leaving you dead in the grass or I a slave or dinner for you. I have already discovered that killing nameless zith could not dispel my sense of loss. But do I have a moral obligation to my people to eliminate you as a threat? To be honest, I find you of great interest. Behind your own hatred, I see a logical mind." Vanator's ax did not lower. His heart still pounded in his chest, expecting at any moment the night being to descend upon him. But his curiosity was too strong to provoke an attack, at least not yet. "You claim my hate blinds me, that I cannot grasp what is right in front of me. What is that, zith, that I cannot grasp before me? You? What about you do I not see?"

[Irriari]

His words swirled in her mind as her spoke them, and she knew that this war of words was far from over, as they both dug themselves deeper into the trenches. His points were valid, but the drykas' hatred and oversimplification of her people made it increasingly difficult for him to see the truth in her. The more he spoke, the more he confused and confounded what she, and her people were. They were not simply animals, nor were they human. Her race lived proudly, somewhere in the middle, living off of instinct, pride, adrenaline and the will to survive through it all. What would it take to get him to understand such things? And more importantly, why did she care?

“Do you think we are animals, human?” she did not wait for an answer, but continued speaking
“We may not look like you, but we have control of ourselves. We have emotions, feelings and we feel the same pains you do. The difference between us is far more than looks. We were born of chaos and a world that had been ravaged, where you humans were trying to survive in it. We feasted on this same chaos, bled it dry and used it again and again, because with it, we were strong.”

She surveyed him carefully, waiting for him to speak, to try to make her less than she was. He may have found her interesting, and in truth, she found him interesting too. But he was still a predator like she, and Irriari refused to let her guard down for a second. This could all be a new elaborate way to kill her.

“What don't you see? You don't see the fact that we are the product of what you created. What happens when you cage an animal, human? It fights, it hates and it lives to free itself to rip out the heart of those who trapped it. While you have persecuted us, we are not simply demons, bent on revenge as so many think. We realize that we cannot destroy you all. We are not stupid. We do the best that we can, like you do. We do not treasure any other race, or hold onto stupid morals like you do. Slavery and killing are ways to survive, as valid as any other. What would you do, drykas, if you could no longer walk into any city, town or establishment, simply because of the impressions made based on your appearance? Would you hold on to your precious values then, even as they tried to cleave you in half, out of fear and hatred?”

She sighed, knowing her point could have already been lost on him. She searched his eyes and tan face for a glimmer of understanding and hoped that he found it soon. Her wings were becoming sore, and her lungs and chest still ached from the training.

[Vanator]

Vanator had been able to soothe the Kavinka mare, whose skittish prancing had subsided to a nervous shifting. A cool evening breeze blew across them, adding to the swirl of air kicked up by the hovering Zith's massive wings, tugging at the drykas' dark blonde mane. The man's eyes had grown more accustomed to the low illumination afforded by the full moon, and Vanator kept his gaze on the she-zith, trying to wring any indication of her intent from her movements. He was not familiar with the physiology of her kind, yet her posture and increased laboring to keep herself aloft hinted at a wearying body. A fact he noted carefully. The human listened to the zith as she gave him a glimpse into the psyche of her race. Yes, he admitted, they were a race, not a species. The acknowledgment of her kind as a subset of 'people' rather than 'animals' was a rather large step for the jaded drykas and afforded some measure of validity to the zith's existence, though it could not negate the fact of a mutual predation that existed between his kind and hers, making them natural enemies. It was of interest to Vanator that the zith desired for him to understand her perspective. Hardly the position of a bestial killer. He found her need to justify her people, to have him know what it was like to be zith, disarming and perplexing. "Of course you are not welcomed in the world of humans, in our settlements. It is as ridiculous as me riding into Din and expecting to be offered a mug of mead and a seat by the fire. I rode to Din's front door, and I will tell you that was not the reception I received." The human paused, catching the sinister black eyes of the zith. Did they really appear evil, or was he simply indoctrinated to believe they were? He mentally shook off the question. "So don't dare hold yourself as possessing some primal virtue that is offended by the notion that humans persecute you and treat you as an outcast. You cannot be cast out of what you never belonged to. You are Zith. You kill and rape and enslave. I understand it is your way, how you survive. But don't expect any sympathy from me, or any human. Just as I would show no mercy to human slavers I come across, or raiders, or poachers. They also have chosen to exist by taking from others." Vanator took a breath, high on his own indignation. "Do you imagine, if zith had managed to chose to farm, or hunt, or develop a civil society, that our two peoples could coexist in the grasslands?"