A Sort of Blooding (Solo)

[Tiki]

3rd Winter 511 AV; Northern Wastes; early morning The life of the hunt started early, as Syna’s radiance cracked across the sky through the thinning clouds hovering over the winter sky. Brilliant shades of gray ranged over the roof of the world clouding the world below in darkness. Though Syna did show through brightly, it was merely too early for the rays to strike through properly, and so the Northern Reaches, Avanthal, all of Taldera still slept in the shade, save for those select few. Under the cover of darkness the eager animals grazed while there was peace. Likewise, so did the hunters prowl in the shadows to find their own meals. Favor smiled upon the hunter who takes advantage of his surroundings, and today Tiki was the favored. The snowfall had slowed, and stopped over the past evening, leaving the ground covered in the crisp freshness of white snow. The powdery substance was light, and did not pack together like it wound for a snow ball. The air that came between the flakes, while cool, was not and bad as the usual icy climate. There wasn’t much wind either, a blessing for those unclothed. Even still, it made for greater comfort to those otherwise prepared for the harshness of the winter times. Tiki was on the move, foot by foot trudging through the few feet of snow gathering up. Though he stepped through the powdery fluff that had just fallen, there were definitely layers below him pact and frozen. Who knows when the ground in the north had last seen the light? This trek from the Avanthal was a pleasant one, taking his orders to retrieve food with the upmost seriousness. He took only his furred clothing, covering him from head to toe, and pack. Any intermediate garments were left back at the Warrens. When he was ready for the chase, he could easily strip down and pounce. He’d just have to be careful to not lose his belongings in the far reaching woods. But before then he’d need to find his prey. He left the city limits perhaps a half hour before, carefully taking his time to find prey as well as not lose his own way. He was still unfamiliar with the wastes, even the localized area where he had scouted a few times before. Maybe that was his mistake, perhaps he gave himself away and now the game was moving away. Or he was just unlucky; either was a possibility at this point. He had spent the time he was in the thicker woods smelling, searching for some odor, searching through the trees for movement, holding his breath to hear a noise over his heartbeat… That was another problem on these calm days, there was little cover other than the darkness. At least his scent could not trail off with the wind. All the same, nor did the odor of the other wildlife he was searching for. His attempt to track something was becoming a difficulty, now so late into his search with little to show for it. He was too slow on two feet, he figured, and quietly removed his hat and gloves, putting them in the bag. For the next pieces of clothing he’d need to be quick, even with the stillness and awkward warmth of the day, heat was still valuable with the onset of winter. He loosed his sleeves and pants and boots, standing on them when they hung off his body, avoiding the snow. With his jacket hanging over his back, he packaged his other belongings into the bag. Then he was quick, such that his feet did not get wet from the contrast in temperature between his feet and snow, to place his jacket in the bag as well, and sling it over his shoulders, and shift form. He was successful, and now waited a minute to warm his fur. His sealed pack hung tight on his back. It wobbled back and forth across his shoulders as he began walking. Survival came first in hunting, and so far he was on the right track. Keeping warm and dry made the difference. He prowled the dead wood another five minutes analyzing and observing the realm around him. His sharp eyes pierced through the lingering darkness searching for those subtle movements. A bit of snow fell with a plop and he stood still, fixated on it for a moment. It must have fallen under its own weight. He took notice of the scents as well. Something was growing stronger, a thin smell of a larger animal, male, and slow moving. Moving closer to the source the scent was growing stronger as a thrilling rate. He’d just have to make sure it stayed this way. His muscular form stepped softly over the powdered snow, his padded paws silent. He picked his movements five steps ahead, carefully watching for anything that could give his presence away. The light was coming up, now the snow reflected specs of rays like tiny sparkles over the pale earth. The atmosphere was abominable and unrealistic in all of the worst ways. The majority of the wood still held to the darkness, cold and still, hiding secrets, like Tiki in his stealthy prowl.

[Tiki]

He closed the gap between him and his prey, now he was sure of it. The beast was a large caribou out in the dead wood. When the scent became too much, he slowed his advance. His steps were softer more than ever. His movements were so slight not even the bag had room to shuffle and make noise. He crept forward another few feet. When he was in sight, he came lower to the earth and bowed his head. Caiyha… are you out there? Are you spying on me now? He thought to himself. He had never really been that thoughtful over the matter. Hearing stories of gods and goddesses was always a fascination, but never had he thought more of it. The caribou stood feet away, back turned, grazing. Its hooves drove into the snow and dug for the green shrubbery of the earth. Tiki distracted himself and looked around a bit more. He took his gaze away from the caribou. Well…? Are you? he went unanswered, naturally. He returned to the caribou and began forward. His front paw went first, moving several inches forward as he kept his body low to the ground. He tried to focus on the buck more. Those golden halos glared at it. His back paw dragged forward next. The snow came with it, and all remained silent. His other front paw moved, and the respective opposite back leg, a bit quicker. No sign of recognition came from the animal. He took the opportunity to scamper a bit closer, no faster than a tip-toe across the frosted earth. He brought himself, finally, to a proper alignment with the back of the prey. It was quite big, the animal that was, though its ass was of the proper proportion as well. He placed himself off to the side a bit to dive at the right leg. The past to the left was thick with trees, but he’d have little choice. He moved forward again, the caribou unsuspecting. He lowered himself again, charging his powerful limbs for the pounce. His trap was ideal. The time to strike was now.

[Tiki]

It was instantaneous. His hind legs pressed forward, sliding into the deep snow, claws digging for the dirt to grasp onto something. His front paws stretched far equally with great strength and clung into the snow and grasses buried beneath the freshest layers. He had leapt forward two feet in the first lunge. His back arched downward in its fullest extension and recoiled with the speed of lightning. The caribou was startled from the first moment. He lifted his head and turned his head but a fraction of an inch before running off into the clear path. Tiki chased after him with all of his energy. The pack on his back was awkward, and more cumbersome than expected. It kept sealed, thankfully, but he knew what it was doing, all of the pointless work he was doing became well known fact. The energy he had was fading quickly, and he was barely keeping up with the buck. They passed several clearings, small game shifting under their snowy heaps away from the chase. The hooves beat against the ground heavily with great, thunderous thuds, and this time lightning followed. Tiki knew he wasn’t going to catch it. It was too big for him, and he had no hopes of keeping up like this. The strain in his limbs told him to stop, it was not worth it. So he did. His lightning pace slowed to a trot, and he was breathing heavily. His ears were pitched back still. He let out a brief growl in his defeat. The bag would need to be placed somewhere else or maybe even left at the Warrens. It was cold, but at least when he was moving he could feel the heat fill him up. This terrain was impossible to predict. He decided to head back towards Avanthal, though he wasn’t finished yet… He was quick in his step. The whole forest near-by had been alerted to his coming, it seemed. What silence there once was became even quieter yet. He took half the time now to return to his point of entry, not worrying so much of his stealth. He began snarling, his legs began to burn at he reached the end. His breath poured forth from his maw in a thin mist. That cool headed look of cats gave way when he did, and the wrinkles made him look angry. Stupid bag…Stupid city… He was angry was all. The gates were five minutes away, at most, running. He left his bag and turned back to the forest. He growled low, his ears back, teeth bared, and vicious. The true hunt was on. I have no time for games. Black lightning surged into the still dim forest. His ears were back the whole while, his teeth exposed to the wind as he took in large breaths. The air was fresh and the wind biting. He was sweeping south now, further from the city than before. He was half a mile deep in the wood when he saw it, a powder puff of fur digging in the snow for a hare. It was a fox, not brilliantly large, though not exactly famished either. The scent had been there before him, light on the air. He only recognized it now, the light color kit. It was a boy, not much younger than himself, though plenty smaller. He darted right after him. The fox was quick to escape in the opposite direction, but would not last. The kit dived under the brush and snow, but Tiki was on his heels all the same. His own limbs now burned with rage and frustration, with the agonizing labor he performed. And for what, silly mizas? He could not eat mizas! To buy himself odd food, or nice cloths, or shelter? This place wasn’t right for him. Why had he brought himself here in the first place? Wind Reach…No! He cleared his thoughts and immediately sped up. His focus was on the fox and that was all. He darted for the kill. He was sloppy about it too. He was quick about it, bringing himself up alongside the fox. He bit into the back of the kit and they tumbled. The fox squealed and whined in the pain of death had by the maw of the jaguar. He pinned the kit down with his claws and bit again. He felt no blood, but tasted fur instead. He managed to only break the spine; oh the sound that was heard, the crunching of bone under that smooth flesh. He bit again, at the neck, and the kit was sure to be silent. He settled down along his kill, his claws still in the fur. He seemed content now. He was panting still, with his jaw let loose. That tongue of his hung between his teeth. The wood was quiet as the sun began to fully rise across the horizon. None challenged his rule over this feast. He took the kit and started at it, tearing flesh from bone until his muzzle was all bloodied. White melded with white as the fur was torn away. The scent of blood flooded over all else in the local area. He could be seen from a distance, a large black cat, his claws tight around the corpse as his teeth stabbed into smooth, silky flesh and pinched off the tendons. Along came a wolf, its fur a mix of brown, gray, and white, still shifting with the seasons. Tiki was busy gorging himself on the catch, the kill, the meal. Was it rightfully his? He caught it, but certainly he has a job to do. No, that was silly, he earned it… He earned it. The wolf was smaller as well, though much bigger than the kit still. Tiki appeared all but hostile as he fed on the upper hide of the wolf’s cousin, where the flesh was taught and thick. The chest muscles, those biceps, triceps, who-gives-a-ceps, flesh. The wolf moved closer and started on the hind leg of the fox, even reaching up for the gut of the morsel. It clung to the fur and stepped on the hind end and started to eat. The thing must have also been starving. Tiki stopped on instances when the wolf seemed greedy, and growled. The wolf would not pull as much then. He would start again however, and did tug the wrong way once too much. Tiki’s broad claw swiped down over head and gashed into its nose. The wolf fell back and began to lick itself. The cut was not quite so deep in reality, but with the blood, in this light, it appeared to be that way. The wolf came back to join Tiki in feast. The hind of the kit was nothing, but fur and mal-nourishing organs. The wolf came too close once more and set Tiki off. Had he not been a generous host? He was quick on the wolf’s back. A lonesome mutt, some exiled runt, Tiki’s next victim, that’s all he was now. Tiki’s claws sank into the wolf’s flesh who tried to scamper away. The wolf turned and its flesh ripped. They stumbled. Tiki was on him again, but the wolf wanted to live. They scratched at each other, though Tiki was heavier and let his weight fall on the scavenger. His eyes were fierce gazing at his prey, his ears pointed back like the devil’s horns, and claws raging in slashing patterns across the animal’s chest. The wolf rolled. Tiki followed him and pounced one last time onto the back of the wolf. His claws sank into the shoulders and maimed him, his hind legs thumped and clawed at his back, to pain him, and his lightning bite bit into his back, the murderous crunching of bone as thunder crackles across the storming sky, to end him. Tiki lay triumphant and drained from the experience. Avanthal… He looked back at the kit’s corpse, dead and mangled. He was full though, for now. He got off the wolf’s body and took it up in his teeth, by the middle of the spine. He started back towards Avanthal in the now bright day light that eagerly pierced the clouds. He’d change at his bag, though he was still hot, and enter the city with a undeserved kill. It was not for him, and he’d benefit anyway. What should he care?

[Cheshire]

Character: Tiki Experience: Wilderness Survival +1, Observation +3, Stealth +2, Hunting +2, Running +2, Brawling +1 Additional Note: Great thread. PM me with concerns.