Open - A titan of gentleness, a tyrant of despair

[Sorian]

Timestamp: 2nd Spring, 510 AV The convergent paths of his life had left him with nothing but his resolve to change and to find peace within himself once more, casting him back to the wilderness from whence he had come from. With the restless spirits of his past weighing heavily on the back of his fractured mind, it chased him away from the place and the woman he had called his home. Still there was to be no regret for him, for everything happens for a reason, and the reason also happened to be her. The balls of his feet padding the grass and unfrozen brooks that now flowed as freely as Tanroa's endless course, the mighty Akalak's eyes roved across the wilderness, knowing little what kind of fate awaited him in his return to 'normalcy'. For days and nights he had struggled with his reintroduction to the wild; while he used to be adept at hunting and more than fine with eating uncooked meat, domestication had been quick to settle, and he was now starving, both literally and figuratively. The facts of his departure also contributed heavily to the turmoil that he was supposed to vanquish, and as of now, in the second half of his lifelong liaison with misery, it all appeared to have been for naught. The task ahead seemed so daunting, so futile, that despite the resolve that he had formed to hunt down the storms of fate befuddling him, he could only sigh and breathe heavily in his stubborn refusal to go back. How he had had fled away, like a coward he had fled from everything he had worked on, started and nurtured for himself. How he had fled rom Kavala, from Sanctuary, from the sort of peace he knew he wanted and yet needed less than the one he was searching for. For fear of destroying these he had gone out to come to grips with a destiny he fears he might have already left behind. Navis was not the one who had driven him out--nay, for despite his loathing of the quiet that settled into their collective persona in their stay in Sanctuary he had remained fretting but tolerable. And Sorian was so sure that Kavala would have liked to have him around, would have done what she could despite his criminal lack of understanding with her pain. It even seemed that Navis himself had more of a connection to the beloved Konti than he did, and it strained his heart tremendously. He had left a part of him with her, allowing her to hold on to the sacred Lakan he had held onto for all his years in the wilderness. While the gesture's meaning would have been clear to the perceptive Kavala--that he would return one day-- he was quite unsure how she would have reacted to his sudden disappearance. She already knew that he would never have stayed forever, but bravado aside, he knew she wanted him to stay around. And he had made a promise to her; while in a way he never would leave her, her interpretation was all that would have mattered, and it could definitely go for the unpretty one. And Akela, what about that brash and fiery sister of hers? He had said even less to her in goodbye, and in the duration of their acquaintance he had learned to be wary of her unstable wrath. He pondered on what that steel of hers could do, even to a fighter as proficient and powerful as he. Perhaps when he does come back she'd let him have a piece of her mind, and it was a thought he did not relish at all. And yet the greatest of his pains resided within himself, the great albatross that he could not dislodge with understanding and acceptance. The memory of his dark night with Karnelia continues to cast a pall on his sense of morality, and even in Sanctuary, almost every waking dawn was greeted by the imaginary sight of her blood upon his hands. Yes, he sees it all, even now. For now the tormentor within him rested easy and silently, letting him explore their mind without tussling him around and complaining out loud, and he was quite thankful for it. Touching the bark of a massive coniferous tree he paused to inhale a breath of nature's gifts, then turned a look towards the miles that had rolled on by. While his heart yearned for his return, his calling was the force powering his thick, sinewy legs, and so he must continue. He is a titan of gentleness, and he is a tyrant of despair. And such is the crux of his existence.

[Weyliss]

Any evidence of humanity had long since been left behind. The endless trees stood in testament to mother nature's command over these lands. Green as far as the eye could see. A sort of 'canopy' covered the immediate area blocking out most of the sunlight. Blue could be seen in bits and pieces through the interlocking trees. It was the only way that the traveler knew the night was coming.

While rather small, the man was built, and carried an almost sinewy 'stoutness' about him. The hair was a mess, and the half-closed eyes seemed to be completely oblivious to their surroundings. The man's attire consisted of a leather cuirass, with matching greaves adorning the legs. Along the back, a pack could be seen, with a blanket covering up what could be more gear. The man looked haggard, with various scrapes, bruises, and bits of dried blood being visible along the arms and face.

The smallest of breaths. Coming to a stop, Weyliss surveyed the area around him. The small clearing barely held the name, with numerous other clearings within view, and the trees barely providing cover against any unwanted visitors.

Pulling the blanket over his shoulder, and off his back, the man lay it out at the base of a tree. Pulling the pack's straps out from his chest, he slid out from its grips, and with a loud clang, let it unceremoniously drop to the ground. Leaning down, Weyliss unwrapped a blanket from what looked to be an ancient scabbard. Rolling the blanket up, Weyliss pushed it against the base of the tree, making a place for his head to rest. Thus completed, he turned to grasp the old scabbard. Clutching it in one hand, he lay the newly revealed quivers against the pack. A shortbow was also drawn and propped against the gear.

Another sigh, and the young man is surveying his makeshift camp. Taking a seat against the tree, Weyliss slowly works with some flint and tinder. Finally producing a spark he lights a twig, and then pulls out a pipe.

Each act is tired, worn. With the full inhalation of the pipe's smoke, the eyes finally close.

[Sorian]

The chirping of birds and the rustling of leaves left him with a smile; Kavala would have loved to be around all this natural glory, yet seeing as she wasn't there he tossed the thought back into his heart. There was so much to explore in the shady and wildness of Syliras' backdrops. Earlier he had come through some ancient ruins, buildings that were falling apart in their age and abandoned squalor, though being ancient himself he did not know what to make of them. He had also had nothing to eat so far, the last one being a tasty viand being cooked by a couple of hunters some hours ago. His huge body required a constant intake of food, and right now he was definitely hungry. Just then, something came to his attention. A sniff of the air, followed by another one, and then one last long inhalation. Even in the density and lushness of the forest, a breeze inlain with smoke from the pipe did not escape the Akalak's quick senses. It certainly wasn't a fire, for it was too faint and small to be a blaze. Neither was it the wafting scent of cookery; while it was true that Kavala's culinary skills weren't the best in the world--she'd be the first to admit this--the resulting meal would still bear a distinctive and stomach-inviting smell. Regardless of the minimal appeal that it held for him, the blue giant nonetheless followed the direction it was coming from, lumbering through the woods like a clumsy bionic creation. The muscles on his legs provided him with little grace, yet it was obvious that they held a lot of strength. He could have sprinted had he wanted to, but being in Sanctuary had gifted him with a more patient way of doing things. And so he trudged across the grass and stone, his bare feet feeling neither pain nor softness thanks to the thick callouses that the years had given him. It was usually mercurial, his mood and actions, the ever-encroaching influence of his darker side, which remained quiet still. Only Kavala had ever been able to elicit a tame and warm tone from him, yet upon arriving at the fringes of Weyliss' camp the look on his face was placid enough despite the permanent hard lines. The human was resting under a tree his eyes closed to the world. A pipe was sticking out of his mouth, apparently the source of the smell he had followed. The human didn't arouse his curiosity too much, yet a sudden irregular throb from within his massive chest suggested that someone else was interested. After all, they had collectively preyed upon humans before, armed or unarmed. A loud grunt belched out of his mouth, with the muscles and veins of his body constricting and fluctuating in unsubtle, random patterns across his body. "Let me out if you're not interested. I want to have my fun." The Akalak's eyes flew open in disgust and torment, his defiance against his inner demon manifesting itself in rigid and uncontrolled flails of his arms. The strength of his body damaged the trees and shrubs around him, the pounding on the wood shaking the ground a little with every blow. "Stop...! You... Can't kill.... I won't let you! They're... Not... Food!" he bellowed. He should have known better than to tempt his volatile other half, and he was fighting with every bit of willpower inside of him to force it back down. Yet the voice inside his mind was merely amused, bursting into a waking cackle of evil. It was ferocious and hungry to say the least, and inside the struggling mind of conscience was beginning to lose the battle. The dark one was just too strong for him when motivated with the prospect of something it liked. "I missed the smell, and the taste of raw flesh and blood. Let me out." His dark blue eyes were then starting to grow bloodshot and maniacal, and the thick sinews wrapping his neck and arms bloated and twisted in horrid shapes and combinations, as if they was a thousand tiny insects alive and crawling inside him. "You there!" he shouted savagely to the sleeping Weyliess, hot saliva dribbling down the sides of his mouth already in a rabid and mad expression. "Get... Outta here! Before... Before...!" The tormentor was starting to burst out, and he was feeling his will draining away. Soon the beast will burst out of him, ready to fight and kill this man in any terrain and circumstance. And all that was left for the lighter one was total despair.

[Weyliss]

Deep within the dark confines of sleep, the young warrior could remember her. She was beautiful, and asleep. Her golden locks falling about her small face as she slept. Her rosy, red nose twitched each time she took a breath.

Suddenly, Weyliss' eyes flew open. It took several seconds to realize what had woken him up. The eyes darted around the camp, taking another second to realize he had a visitor.

It looked to be an overly large man, with ... blue? It could be the lighting or it could be-

"Get... Outta here! Before... Before...!"

The small man had quick reflexes, and quickly cast the spent pipe to the ground. Then with one free hand he grabbed a handful of dirt, in the other, he quickly grasped the scabbard. Gripping the handle, he turned to his guest.

"Where? Are you-"

He didn't finish the sentence, as the other man was shaking, and his massive frame was visibly convulsing. The warrior's face hardened.

An Ak-.. something. He couldn't remember the damn name. Fearsome warriors, and very solitary. He knew little else about their race, so he let the fresh earth slip from his free palm. Grasping the scabbard, Weyliss smoothly pulled the ancient great sword from its sheath. The blade was worn, and battered, with various chinks and dents along the dual edges. Yet it was still bright, and obviously well cared for. The young warrior chose a high stance, raising the sword's handle until it was just above his head. It was a hard stance to hold, but the entire weight of the sword could be brought down as well as his own downward swing. Upon viewing the man further, he re-adjusted his hands, twisting the blade for an angular cut.

For a moment, there was silence in the clearing, as the ancient warrior struggled to contain himself, and the young knight fell into a familiar and well practiced stance.

"You do not seem to be injured friend, and I can see no danger around me. Perhaps you are mistaken?"

The voice was clear, its even tone filling the small area.

He wasn't entirely sure what to do. His mind raced. If this man was running from archers, the would attack the stupid fellow with his exposed abdomen. Yet he could see nothing among the trees, just blackness. Perhaps this was a madman, come to prey on travelers? The odds where astronomical, here, alone in the wilds, they had stumbled upon each other...

...which meant, this man had come for him. Surveyed his camp, and then initiated contact. He could have killed Weyliss in his sleep. Yet he did not. Very odd.

"Do you need help friend? Are you being chased?"

Still, Weyliss was very much a man of instinct, and as far as he could tell, the only thing dangerous in the area, was this great big, blue bastard.

The smallest of smiles started to form.

"Or do I call you nemesis?"

[Sorian]

His bulging blue eyes seemed ready to fall out of his skull, as if enormous pressure was being pumped into his head. He watched in horror as the man drew a blade, getting ready to do battle. What was he thinking? Did he not know that a human would never be able to beat an Akalak in combat? It was folly, it was foolish! His teeth clenched together briefly, his sight roving around the premises as he attempted to say something more, but failing miserably under the duress. The Akalak fell to his knees, both his hands grasping the thick hair on his head as he let out a scream of emotional agony. His willpower having been spent, the more docile between the two personalities lapsed into unconsciousness. After a few more seconds of severe straining and shallow, haggard breaths, it was over. For a while, the convulsing stopped, and the creature fell into silence, both arms hanging loose between his fallen head. "Why helllo there." rung the voice, no longer steeped in pain, but with a hugely malicious and sadistic tone. The head raised abruptly, with a pair of hollowed blue eyes looking straight at the human warrior, a sharp grin etched into the face. "I have to admit, I am very, very surprised, Won't you run?" The seemingly limp body began to snake upwards, and with a heave backwards, a burst of power returned to each limb, the muscles tensing and bloating with bombast. "And you can call me nemesis, sure." he declared wryly as he slipped into a crouching position, ready to sprint or pounce at the man, whichever is more suitable.

[Weyliss]

Secret :

"Clutching it in one hand, he lay the newly revealed quivers against the pack. A shortbow was also drawn and propped against the gear." That's from the first post. So we are on the same page.

Weyliss was far from stupid, and as the blue warrior started to scream, he tensed. Whatever mental anguish the man was dealing with, was beyond the small warrior, but he did recognize a break when he saw it. The following silence allowed the warrior to take stock of the situation. His shortbow and arrows where still up against the pack, and less then two steps away. To draw, aim...

His mind still racing, Weyliss was moving in a circle as the madman started to straighten out. The change in tone was disconcerting, but it settled the warrior's resolve. As the other man spoke, he seemed to cock his head in confusion, yet still held the combat stance.

"Run? Would you run from a wolf? You make every attempt to attack a complete stranger, which in my mind, makes you little more then an animal."

The man continued to circle slowly, each step chosen, as to not cross his legs.

"If you are a danger to me, imagine what you are to those poor unarmed travelers throughout these lands. Who knows how many you have killed. I'm afraid that I cannot allow such a creature to move about the lands unfetted, killing whenever it pleases."

The narrative was spoken softly, as if he was more focused on the other man's weaker points. It was clear how he felt on the subject, and the sword was still perched above his head, ready to drop at a moments notice.