The Moon is but a Star [Eridanus]

[Screech]

Pain ripped across her body as he cut her, and she shuddered at it. It took her a few moments to re-orient herself, and when she did she lunged at where he had been, hitting air and ground and cracking her claws on the cement. Blood furrowed her black fur from the red welts he had cut into her, trailing from a tear in her wing, and she trembled with anger and pain. He had escaped again, starting another, much more frustrating, dance, and a low snarl ripped from her throat as she considered what to do. Now that she knew what he was doing, she was wary of charging out again. She wanted to get at him anyway and she resented allowing him to flee into the building in the first place. Black eyes glittered as she flicked them around the warehouse for something she could use as she began to creep forward again. Warily, she peered out of the door, her back arched as her sharp claws scratched the cement cruelly. She looked for him, even going as far as to slightly pop her head from beyond the door. She didn’t like that she was cornered in a building, not in the least, but she saw where he stood and withdrew immediately whether he swiped at her or not, if he hadn’t done so already. Anger rose in her again, as did her passion for this hunt, and she jumped at the wall, her claws scrabbling at it as she tried to rip through to grab him. She longed to just go out and attack him, but she had to be careful. One strike, and she would be dead. There would be nothing left of her to even throw a stick at, and maybe the moon child would eat her bones afterwards or desecrate them in some way. Her rage continued to escalate until she lunged out of the building in a sudden burst of fur, blood, and limbs, allowing herself to be cut, but whipping around to face him before he could flee back into the building again. His swords were tipped by the dark ruby of her life-blood, causing her to see red, and she shrieked some wordless curse at him in her language, crouched and furrowing the ground with her sharp claws, her wings extended again in her attempt to make him quail. Self-preservation wasn’t much of an issue at this point. She was consumed by that instinctual urge to kill something, and she tensed to pounce on him and claw him to shreds, even if it would cost her life.

[Eridanus]

Eri saw a head poke out from the door, but he did not move, for he had no intention of being lured into the building. He stayed clear outside, though ready to pounce should the zith fully exit the building. He briefly glanced at his blades to see it coated with red, and he knew that he had drawn blood from his opponent. It was no time to be complacent however, and he had to fully keep his eyes on the game if he hoped to survive. He had fought and killed many, but to him the ziths would always occupy a terrifying spot in his heart even after so many years. They were born predators gifted with a sentient intelligence, and this made them even more deadly.

Suddenly, there was a flicker of movement as the zith exploded out of the entry-way, and Eri lunged forward with his blades again, attempting to deal as much damage as he could. He planned to quickly run back into the building again like what he did earlier, but the zith had already known his plan and she turned around, shrieking some sort of curse at him, extending her wings to prevent her from landing too far away.

It was quite a suicidal move, but it made sense in trading as Eri could play merry-go-round with the doorway all day, while her new tactic would cause her some damage but will allow her a chance to take him down. He was dealing with a foe that wanted him destroyed at all costs - even at the expense of great personal harm - and he knew that his way of fighting had to be changed. He could not fight assuming his opponent had some sort of self-preservation. He had to fight to utterly destroy, eradicate, to annihilate his opponent so completely that there would be nothing left.

His heart was pounding furiously for he had never fought such an berserker in a very long time, but at the same time it was somehow singing with joy at this life-and-death predicament. He gained his thrills from such excitement, and it threatened to cause his addiction to danger to relapse.

There was no time to consider these namby-pamby things, for the situation was very real right in front of him. One wrong move on his part, and he would be killed just like that. The ziths were fabulous predators and excellent hunters, one do not escape from them more than once. He could not afford to lose.

The ethaefal began drawing up djed to his upper torso, pumping his body full of temporary but raw astral energy. There would not be time for nimble footwork, and he did not expect to need to move much for the focus would now lie on maintaining his ground with his blades. If his defence was broken no amount of running would save him from those wings.

As he did so, he took advantage of the zith's recovery to lunge forward with his blades, slashing and thrusting furiously with his blades in alternate measures, using the non-attacking blade to guard his body while the other attacked. It was a fast but measured assault, meant to protect himself moderately while causing some damage to the opponent.

It was his preliminary attack to buy time as well as to inflict more damage in the hope of slowing down his opponent, for once he finished channelling the flux up to his upper torso the zith cannot hope to overwhelm if she insisted on continuing the battle.

[Screech]

Her rage could only mount higher and higher, indignation and an instinctive need to sate her blood-thirst raging within her body. Her cut her, stabbed her, and she felt the pain as a wave of vitality. The more he drew from her, the stronger her determination to kill him became. She could almost taste him now, the craze coating her tongue and making her growl a long, low rumble. She flinched under the flash of his swords and skittered back, on the defensive. Her fur stuck up, a dark ripple in the dark night, and her black eyes gleamed with something she hadn’t felt since she last hunted a snake. She jumped forward at the slightest deviation in the pattern, intending to knock him down and kick his swords aside, or even slash a wrist to weaken the grip he had. Claws sliced at his face, his arm, she kicked at him, fur ran along his skin, silk on flesh, before she jumped back. She didn’t know his range, didn’t know what his powers were as a child of the moon. He could kill her easily, perhaps. She didn’t want to die so quickly. Her nose wrinkled, took in the scent of blood mingling. She longed to sink her claws in to him, to pull him apart piece by piece and keep him alive until the very end. The Zith remained crouched, her back arched in a feral, animalistic way remniscient of some great cat being provoked by another. Blood loss made her woozy, made black tease the edges of her vision, but she didn’t care at this point. She’d get the man back.

EditsOmg. Same thing as with Blood and Bone. O_o At one point, it talked about kisses here. I have to edit. Screech isn't interested in kissing people, but killing them is always an option. These are spelling edits and usage edits.

[Eridanus]

His attacks were meant to buy him, to ward her away while he finished casting his spell, but the zith still continued towards him in a berserker rage. He still could not help but find himself surprised at her lack of preservation, and while he quickly tried to dodge her attacks his stance was meant as one that worked against enemies who would protect himself. He barely escaped while suffering several powerful blows on his body, blows that would no doubt create bruises later. That was the least of his concerns, for her claws were the most dangerous.

Eri struck forward with his cold iron blade, intending to create a deep gash on her torso should it connect perfectly, but at the last moment he had to twist himself away or risk getting impaled on her claws. She was quite content on dying together with him, but he had no intention of doing so. This meant that his strike went awry, though he had no time to see what damage he wrought for he tumbled to the side, feeling a hot burning sensation of his chest.

He brought his blade close to his body so that he could feel his chest from his hand that gripped a blade tightly, and his hand felt something wet and slippery. The ethaefal briefly glanced down to see his clothes shredded and red, and he smiled grimly, for the zith had managed to claw his chest.

It was not debilitating, though whether it was due to his adrenaline or the shallowness of the wound he did not know. There was no time to properly assess his injuries. This was a time of action, and he finally finished his silent incantation, bringing up the full brunt of his flux abilities up to his upper torso.

Eri began rushing forward in a calm fury, his arms augmented with unnatural strength and speed, creating a blinding whirlwind of blades around him as cold-iron and steel flashed in lightning quick succession, intent on shredding his predatory foe completely.

[Screech]

Screech fell back before his onslaught, scurrying away even as he came at her, his blades flashing in the light of houses. She hissed, attempting to frighten him back and give her some space, but it seemed that he was too far gone to much care for intimidation any longer. He was bent on killing her, ending her life with his flashing blades and unnatural abilities. She couldn’t understand how his power came to be, she couldn’t understand what it was that made him so strong and different. All she knew was that she had to kill him, or she would die horribly. The Zith shrieked as the son-of-the-moon’s sword cut into her skin and she danced back quickly, limping and bleeding even more fiercely. She wound up to spring, not wasting time checking upon her wounds, and prepared her next attack. She felt she would die, and in a way she was ready for it. At least she would have taken down this creature with her, at least she would have his death to brag to the souls of her ancestors. She lunged forward as he did, his swords slicing into her wings, her back, her stomach, her arms, her legs, and her claws biting into his shoulders, running down his chest and digging into his flesh to feel warmth seep around the black needles. One of his blades seemed to have buried itself in her leg, gnashing against the bone unpleasantly, while the other hacked across her ribs viciously. Screech felt high on the thrill of the fight, on the adrenaline that coursed through her blood, and on the sweet whisper of a long sleep as black blurred her vision. She didn’t hurt so much, and it frightened her, but she also didn’t care so much about the pain and the ache and the utter lack of feeling. It honestly felt like she was dying, and all she could do was grip the man in her claws and lean against him, her breath shuddering past her dark lips. She didn’t know what he was doing, and she barely had enough strength to keep upright, let alone moving. Anger still burned deep in her, as did bloodlust, but it was duller now. Less substantial, like smoke rather than flame. Quietly, she growled again.

[Eridanus]

The blades flashed white as they caught the moonlight, and they flashed red when coated with blood. In any normal scene it would be just grim, utter bloodshed, but in this particular instance the environment lent it a poetic-like form. The zith was no longer worried about self-preservation, and it seemed that her berserker-like rage began to rub off Eri for he was not fighting as cautiously as he should be already. Perhaps it was the wound afflicted on him that caused him to get light-headed with blood-loss, or it could just be the entire surreality of the situation for he felt like he was visualizing poetry rather than experiencing reality. It was just not... gritty enough to reek of reality.

Eri could feel resistance as he swung his blades as quickly as he could with his enhanced strength but keeping his eyes wary, though truth be told he was more worried about dealing damage than minimizing damage to himself. There was a resistance, then no more as his blades met flesh and cut through it to air. The zith was a hearty race, and she refused to succumb to her injuries, instead rushing even closer to him as he tried to grip him with her claws.

A blade was lodged in her leg, and even as he tried to remove the sword she flung herself against him, causing the hard steel to run through her leg, effectively denying him the use of one his blades. The other hacked at her ribs, and Eri barely escaped being blinded by her claws by ducking, using his hand to block the attack of her other claw. He managed to ward it off, preventing his heart from being torn out but causing the claws to gouge the upper part of his forearm.

Snarling in pain, he could feel the blood rushing to his eyes as his vision gradually faded to red, seeing everything in a bloody battle-hungry haze. By then he had already let go of his steel sword for it was far too lodged into the zith's leg for him to be able to make any use of it, and instead he chose to grab his remaining weapon of cold-iron with both hands. Even as the zith charged him he backed away, soon finding the appropriate opportunity to launch himself away from his cornered position, tumbling into a fall as he vaulted past the zith. Remembering how he practised in Denval, he turned around quickly, both hands holding his remaining sword in a cautious defensive kendo-like dance as he watched the zith for its response.

He could feel his body's natural motion pulling his redirected djed streams back to its normal course, and he had to struggle to concentrate as he kept his eye on the game but mentally he had to force the dwindling streams back up. He needed to end this quickly and he was afraid that his own natural strength could not match up against one of the greatest natural sentient hunters the Valterrian created.

Eridanus felt another rush of strength as the flux bolstered his vigour. He had to finish this by the next few bouts of combat or he would have to handle the rest of the fight without magic or risk overgiving. The tired way the djed streams slid up in his body was a clear signal that he was at his limit, and his tired muscles screamed in agony, only to be held up by adrenaline.

It was fight and no flight, for it was impossible to outrun the zith. Memories of his enslavement crowded his mind and the ethaefal forced himself to focus on the present or risk letting himself be killed or worse, enslaved again. Both hands gripped his remaining blade as he viewed the zith who looked oddly out-of-shape due to the steel blade that ran through her leg. The sight could be compared to that of a piece of meat stuck on a stick ready to be barbecued.

He grinned savagely, looking at his opponent. His eyes said it all, this round would be their last one way or another. He would put his all in this last clash and he had no doubt that the winged predator opposite him would as well. Their verbal dance had progressed into a violent one, and there was no doubt that it would end in bloodshed.

Let it be his opponent's, and not his.

[Eridanus]

HD Permission for all the actions done in this post

The zith rushed towards him again, and this time even as his weakened flux caused his djed streams to flow back to their original positions, he instead decided to time his final attack. Placing his blades in a deceptive manner, he welcomed the rush, moving as if he were going to swing from the right.

It was a feint. A deception of actions, just as the two attempted to use deceptions to outwit each other verbally and in intellect earlier.

Just before she entered his strike radius, when her momentum caused her to invest all her abilities in that movement he thrust his cold-iron blade forward at the torso, and like a piece of meat at a barbecue the zith ran cleanly through his blade.

It seemed almost surreal, the ending of a life that belonged to someone that he had been just talking normally to earlier.

It was like in slow motion as her eyes widened in surprise, then as she looked down to grasp the reality there was a hint of rage mixed with resignation. She had attacked him with a berserker-like frenzy, and her only regret was not taking him down with her before she breathed her last.

The ethaefal saw her expression, and he sighed partially in regret. He thought that not all ziths were like his former masters. Perhaps there might be an understanding that can be achieved, and maybe his ages-old racism could be resolved in a civil manner.

It seemed that it would not be the case, and the meeting with a zith ended up with the death of one party, just as all his previous encounters with ziths had went.

Breathing deeply, he attempted to slow down his panting as well as to calm his mind in order to mentally bring back any errant djed streams to their default places. It would be silly to overgive after winning a battle.

Looking at the fresh corpse, he began to form an idea. Perhaps he could find some way to intimidate further ziths from attacking him, though he also admitted that the new idea forming in his head might very well provide grounds for ziths to attack him. Either way he was pretty sure that they would try to kill him anyway, so it would not hurt to try it out.

First he looted the body of all that it had. Anything usable, anything valuable, he took it. He knew that if he left it in that corpse someone else would take it anyway.

Next he dragged the body into the warehouse, and he sheathed a blade, for he only needed one sword for the gruesome task.

Using the sharper edge of the cold-iron long sword, he systematically removed the zith's wings and claws - body parts that were unique to the race as compared to the other mortal races, taking care to shake the parts empty of blood as much as he could.

Sitting down in the corner with the dismembered parts, he took out his assassin's dagger and began to methodically strip the parts of flesh, taking care to not damage the bone underneath. It was there that he stripped and stripped, removing the fur, skin and flesh from the wings and fingers so that the only remaining pieces of bone he had were the wings and the claws.

The next thing he would do is to wash them in the river that ran through Sunberth, and standing up, he left the body there along with the gruesome gristle that remained from his tinkering. Pocketing the pieces of bone in his robes, he silently walked on.

[Ink]

And in the Aftermath . . . The Rewards are Revealed. Eridanus : Skills: Observation 2 Acrobatics 3 Running 2 Wrestling 1 Auristics 1 Tactics 1 Flux 2 Longsword 3 Butchering 1 Lores: Zith The Rending, A Zith Story The Thrill of the Hunt Seeing Red Loot: 1 Pair of Zith Wings 1 Pair of Zith Claws A few Zith Bones (5) From Screech: 50 Gm 1 Composite Longbow 1 Herblist's tool kit 1 Climber's Quiver Written in the ink : If there are any concerns or problems with my grading please feel free to toss me a PM. I am more than happy to explain my reasons or reevaluate them if you feel I've been unfair.