[Northern Sunberth] A Primal Experiment (Wrenmae)

[Musca]

Timestamp: Spring, Day 30 512AV (later afternoon)
Location: Musca's cave (Western Hills)

It was certainly ominous, the note in her hand. She slowly took the strange little words written neatly on the pressed parchment, her eyes lazily examining the meaning behind the words.

Certainly, it was letter of challenge, it was so blatantly obvious, despite it's near poetic delivery. But the note still held a tone of a mystery, some fragment of the unknown that was both seducing and carnal. It thrilled her. Grinning widely, she jumped out of her bed and searched for her new slave, "Rail? Rail? Where are you? How did you find this note?" But alas, no dice. A memory of her sending him away to find them food appeared in her minds eye and she huffed. Of course. Food always came first. But her attention was soon stolen once more by the letter, and a smile lit up her face, a slight flush seen. For any other creature, such an item would've sent them scampering- wondering who they have wronged. But she was a Zith, more specifically, she was a Zith that resided in Sunberth. The note was no better than a love note. Her mood was soaring... and then came crashed into a million pieces.

'Wrenmae? Who the petch is this?' Her mind buzzed, quickly going over the new faces that had long ago gone blurry from neglect. She briefly recounted her small history in Sunberth, furiously trying to catch a thread of a familiar face to go with such a name. Nothing.
In her frustration, she crumpled the note in her claws, her jaw squared.

Unacceptable. How could she do the letter justice if she had no idea who the receiving end was? It certainly wouldn't be anyone of her tavern buddies. They would be too spineless, too ignorant. She didn't even consider any of the people in the Crimson Edge. How could she have forgotten? The admirers face was lost to her....'How rude of me.'

But such feelings were only momentary, fleeting in comparison to her desire to see the face behind such a letter. With a quirk of her lips, her confidence was restored, a swagger to her steps as she advanced her bed. "That won't matter soon anyway." She flipped her long black hair to the side of her face and laid in her bed, leisurely stretching her body, the slight sounds of tense muscles being cracked. Beside her, the crumpled note laid passively, waiting for an answer. Musca giggled and flicked it with a long claw, her eyes smug, 'Until the sun will set... be patient.'

[Wrenmae]

He prepared with steel and fabric, wrapping his body with the trappings of man and sheathing the long blade at his waist. Plaguespewer they'd call him, Blight spreader. But the words of the weak and the penitent rang like tinny bells in his ears. His arms hung from his shoulders, swinging with his stride. Sunberth fell around him like the paupers and cutthroats they were. Stained crimson, painted with the dye of disease, the colors of the ancient city were little more than distractions. Sunset swept over the tops of buildings with fading light, a perishing ball of fire leeching blood into the sky as it sunk beneath the horizon. The north of Sunberth stank with the residue of death. It clung to the air in fetid patches, lurking over bodies dragged unceremoniously to side alleys, kicked beneath stones, or left to molder in the sun. A dog eyed Shroud warily from its decomposing perch atop a man hidden with an insulting amount of carelessness. Growling as he approached, the Hypnotist transfixed it with a glare, shattering its little aura with his own overpowering Djed. "Kneel." He commanded, stopping only to glance down at the mutt, groveling in terror as he stood above it. "Vayt looks favorably on the scavengers, they clear the weak and the moldering from sight." It mewled, turning on its stomach, whimpering in panic, but the mage had already passed it by. Whether it returned to its meal or not was irrelevant, and Shroud never looked back. The trees hushed with new breeze, the harbingers of a cooler night. Beneath them, Shroud sat with his back against a stout trunk, arms out and eyes closed in simple meditation. He had called her here for reasons even he found himself grasping at. Lust? Anger? Hatred? The confusing turmoil of senses, his other selves, they gave him nothing but misplaced aggression and racist hatred. The Zith was a Zith, but more importantly she was a comrade, a tool, a pair of breasts and claws. Perfectly capable of rending flesh and equally capable of seducing her prey before she struck them. There was a simple sort of beauty to that, the efficiency of squeezing a man by his weaknesses. Ah the flesh was weak and this young body was no exception. Some raging fire of lust had caught within his chest and with the higher reservoir of logic pouring against it, it only served to aggravate the miasma of confusion already growing stronger in Wrenmae's heart. Shroud, part of the boy, was subject to these juvenile distractions. Perhaps that was why he was here...but the thought sickened him. Instead he chose to wait and visualize combat, strikes and blows, screeching and slashing. It calmed him to see the strikes played in his minds eye, and although inexperienced, he took a measure of faith in preparedness. He had issued the challenge. Now let the prideful take it. Let them all take it.

[Musca]

She took her time getting to the location the stranger had set, amiably strolling through the thicket of subterranean wilds- where a city of sin clashed with patchy forests, each setting carrying the distinct accent of the fight for survival. Even in the very edge of the city, she could still smell the scent of death and disease that stretched as far as it could go into the woodlands. But the woods played a different type of game than it's strange relative, one which forced no amount of politeness and courtesy on it's players, forcing the naive and stupid to realise their mortality while the formidable prowled through the grass whist keeping a wary eye out for their opponents. It was quite obvious that she was late for their meeting- the sun had long passed it's prime and the shadow of the moon observed her with a critical eye. Whether it was intentional or not, the importance of time was lost to Musca. Her use of legs just emphasised her careless nature, a creature driven half by whimsy and half by vanity. A wide smile came to her when she caught a familiar scent, instantly recognising it as the humorous human in the grave yard. She almost laughed to herself. Judging from the impression he gave in their last meeting, his patience would sorely be tested. He had his eyes closed when she was within his visible range, but seeing his form tempted her to steal a moment of reflection. His motives, for one, were doubtful. Surely it wouldn't be just a quick tousle in the grass; that would be too simple- too easy to understand. Maybe she was expecting too much of him. Whatever it was, she shelved such thoughts away and proceeded untied her cloak, revealing the sparse clothing that she wore and her grey fur while the moonlight caught the sight of the glint of steel in the back of her boots. With a careless toss, her cloak was momentarily lost among the grass. "You have a pretty handwriting, Wrenmae." She called, unfurling her wings as she did so and took her time in stretching them until they felt natural on her back again. "But I should admit that I've momentarily forgotten what you looked like. Zith's, you see, don't really value names as much. We steal them from other races and hope that it fits the image we want others to see us as. We prefer recognising one another through scents and sounds, but it seems to me that humans aren't capable of such a feat." Musca paused momentarily, letting her familiarity of the Common language wash over her. "I suppose I must apologise for my tardiness too. I don't take well to sunshine, so I oversleep a lot. A careless mistake that will be the last for tonight." She smiled playfully, wanting to see the limit of his patience. "But before we begin, you must realise that my race is a curious one. Naturally, I'm quite inclined to ask you of your reasons for inviting me to this little..." a face was pulled, "date? And please- don't tell me to just look for it in your note again. I'm afraid I've gone and misplaced it somewhere along the way." A lie. She still had it in her bed. "And another thing; how ever did you find my current home? Did you follow me? You know, you could've just asked. I won't turn away a comrade...." she suddenly trailed off, flashing a predatory grin. "But then again, I quite doubt you see me as a one... or should I just presume that your welcoming nature urged you to invite me for a night stroll in the hopes of building comradeship or... something else entirely?" She had said a lot- more than her usual blather of words. The reason? Stalling for time most probably...or maybe just a simple case of fascination. Musca liked to think it was the former.

[Wrenmae]

She certainly liked to speak a lot for a creature of action, blood, and savagery. Inside him, Wrenmae railed against the barriers, called Shroud to rise and strike this creature down, plunge his dagger into her breast. Instead, the storyteller listened. The clicks of her tongue against her pointed teeth, the way her eyes fluttered in their nests of dark fur, sunlight dying and bleeding out on her blue hair...the way her wings twitched and curled as if fingers. He watched all of it, storing the bits away from further analysis at another point. Frankly, she was a fascination. Meditating, simply sitting, he absorbed her arrival and her words with placid indifference. Wind moved through the trees above them, giant hands that played with toys...but only just gently enough to avoid breaking them. He looked up at her, the way her wings quivered, the glisten on her lip, the way her eyes consumed him, toyed with him, queried him without actually asking. Her words were the meaningless nothings that filled the space between whatever action they were both about to take. He could kill her here, outside Sunberth and beyond prying eyes. He could murder her and no one would ask questions. They would not come to him, they would not sob, she was the outcast of the Crimson Edge, her and her mangy brother. They did not belong, that much was obvious. Perhaps she felt it as well, motivating her little squatting cave hovel he'd followed her back to. Maybe a part of her didn't sync with the Crimson Edge. She was different, Shadowfang was different. They were monsters all the time, fanged creatures that dragged off the innocent to be eaten or enslaved. Symenestra in one respect, simply the flying more vicious versions. He stood. "Our differences are overwhelming," he began, "At least on the surface." He stepped past her, staring back the way she came for company, watching the horizon for the sun dipping ever lower, "Our skin, our shape, our culture, our names, our history, our strengths..." he glanced at her, "Our weaknesses...that which sets us apart is most commonly measured by physical difference, a barrier of species...or...class, perhaps?" He removed his shirt, placing it beside the tree he'd sat against, neatly folding it. His body was wiry, slightly scarred from misadventure, hungry, honed...hers was never an excuse hidden by garb. She left little to the imagination...had to, but that's how he preferred it. "We are going to fight, you and I, but first I would like to erase our differences." He motioned for her to approach him, his skin already rippling with ambient Djed. He layered his request with trust, a calming sensation of confidence that washed over her like waves breaking upon a rock, streaming above it, washing every doubt away. "And in doing so, I will show you a secret of mine...but let us not sully anything with names, if they are so unimportant then they hold no meaning." He grinned. "I will not speak mine if you will not speak yours."

[Fallacy]

XP Award! Name:Wrenmae XP Award: +1 Rhetoric +1 Meditation Lore: A Letter of Challenge Notes: Name:Musca XP Award: +1 Rhetoric +1 Interrogation Lore: A Letter From Wrenmae Notes: Any questions or concerns about the rewards gained please send a PM