PM to join Terror From Above

[Kavala]

Timestamp: 10th of Fall, 512 AV
Location: Sea of Grass near Riverfall's Sanctuary
Status: PM to Join
Time: Early Evening/Twilight

Syna was low in the sky evoking that magical time of day when the ground and sky blended together and formed one solid mass of soft color as a prelude to the brilliant light show of sunset over The Sea of Grass. It was the time to gather herds, collecting strays, and bring them into the shelter of walls for the night. Evening was dangerous. Glassbeaks hunted the tall grass and flights of Zith sometimes rained death from above.

It was rare, but not unheard of for the dangers of the Sea of Grass to lurk so close to the city. But they did, at times, though it did not dissuade the hunters from going out at twilight and taking what meat they could to feed their families and satisfy their own desire for blood.

Just sometimes the hunters became the hunted and those that normally killed found themselves slaughtered. So, indeed, it wasn't unreasonable that the beautiful silence and soft elegance of the world was lost in the death scream of a horse.

Another horse, of a slightly different tone, screamed defiantly as if in attack, its rage unmatched. A woman's upraised voice could be heard, adding to the confusion as hooves pounded grass, held in place by nothing more than a Konti's will.

Wingbeats filled the air and the sound of muffled growls and huffs punctuated the sounds of animals in panic. A soft calm female voice called direction, ordered a horse back, and the sound of a crossbow releasing could be heard. It was followed immediately by the sounds of a feminine shriek and the sound of a large body falling from the sky. The sight of the battle was camouflaged by tall grass, sometimes over a human's head. But if an observer moved closer, parting the tall blades, the scene would reveal itself.

A herd of horses was milling about confused, some rearing and striking at the air. A stallion circled, protective, working to keep the band of thirty some horses together. A woman on foot was dressed in black leather in the style of the Rivarians. A harness filled with daggers lined her chest nestled between the Konti's breast. A grey horse lay on the ground, two spears jutting from its side. The woman held a crossbow that she was carefully reloading as she circled keeping one eye on the weapon and one eye on the sky.

Zith circled above. The beasts were obviously intent on collecting their kill - the dead horse - while the woman was intent on not letting them have it and driving them off. One was already on the ground, injured, a bolt through its wing which was spilling crimson down its dull gray skin.

The woman fired the crossbow again, skyward, but it went wide and the Zith circling above just laughed. The male zith launched his spear above the woman causing the woman to dive left to avoid it. She did, barely, and was already pulling another crossbow bolt from her sheath when she noticed the man on the ground close enough to see the battle.

"Run! Get help. There are a lot of them but I won't leave my horses..." She said stubbornly, reloading and resetting the crossbow. She whirled around and then raised her arns to lift the crossbow and take aim again. She released a beautifully aimed shot and killed a zith with a bolt to the heart. But the Konti was not paying attention to the battle around her as she focused on one enemy at a time.

In taking one Zith's life, another saw his opportunity and dove, raising his club up high and clobbering the Konti over the head. She crumpled, doing down on her hands and knees and crying out. One of the mares in the herd bared her teeth and flashed forward, chomping down on the zith that dove with his club.. the one still within reach and rendered a big tear in his arm. It gave the Konti time to put a hand back, covering her head, and causing a white glow to surge through her features as she invoked the healing gnosis on her ankle.

It was a full fledged battle. This was no exercise or drill. Life and death unfolded below Rakzar, and inadvertently included him when one of the zith spotted him and tried flying into him at full speed, intent on snatching him up, climbing sky high, and dropping him to his death.

[Razkar]

Twilight was a wonderful time to be a hunter. Only dawn was better. The shimmering orb in the sky set the ground on fire and threw off the highly-evolved senses of most animals. Shadows stretched and distorted, providing a canny hunter with a myriad of places to hide. Razkar remembered those times, far away from here, crawling through vine-drenched foliage after monkeys, tapir, riamm, tskannas, anything that could be skinned and eaten. Or just provide a thrilling pursuit.

On this day, he stalks a different prey on a different land. But it is the same. And it is twilight.

The Myrian, stripped down to only his loincloth and leather shoes, seemed to walk in slow motion, but every footstep was silent. A composite bow was held in both hands, pointed down, string flat but large, flat-headed arrow already in the notch. Restless fingers held it just above the feathers capping it, matching the others in the quiver across his back. And, as always, gladius and handaxe were at his belt, constant companions, guardians and family.

Razkar breathed in the chilling air. Already cooling. He should be cold but ignored the sensation. He had to learn to tolerate this new climate. Besides, the cloak would have smelled too wrong. An hour ago, when he set out into the tall, thick grassland beyond Riverfall, an expanse so huge and tall that he was halfway sure it reached the end of the world, he found a pile of deer dung. His first clue and tool.

The latter because he picked it up without hesitation and rubbed it on himself.

Smell like what you hunt, not what hunts them.

But that was the problem: he could not find them. The frustration starts to build in his tall, taut body, tattoos and piercings seeming to grow more stark as his anger rises. The tracking wasn't a problem: he's been able to track since barely after he could walk. The deer was traipsing through the grass, careful not not of him. He'd asked about this Sea, and it of course had its predators. Wolves, serpents, creatures called glassbeaks described by most with words such as "vicious", "evil" and "huge".

He hadn't seen one so far, but he might get lucky.

Razkar cursed softly to himself in Myrian as yet another wall of yellowed grass is pushed aside and nothing is revealed. The grass is tall than his head in most places and he's being careful not to get too far from the city walls. But this is... frustrating.

And then...

"Hello, beautiful..."

He whispered the words as he saw the fuzzy white tail through a screen of grass. It's head was low, grazing innocently, unaware. Sixty yards. A long shot, but not impossible with the composite bow, a weapon that could punch an arrow two inches into a tree trunk at a hundred yards. Gods alone knew what it would do to a deer, but Razkar had high hopes. He's spent all day finding just the right tools. Not a simple short bow, something compact but powerful, accurate and durable.

The composite bow. His mother carried one. Taught him how to use it. He was good with it, and the arrows? Broader and flatter than usual, designed for maximum damage, tearing a hole that would bleed out fast.

Ninety mizas well spent. Or so he'd thought, then doubted as nothing came in his range. And now...

He raised the bow, drew back the chord. Left arm straight and tight, right arm pulling back, muscles straining as he drew the arrow almost to his ear. Sighted down the shaft... iron tip wavering minutely in front of the deer's flanks. He breathed, slowly and steadily, willing the shaking to stop... it does...

Then something screamed, screeched and laughed all at once. The deer didn't even look up, just bolted with its tail raised him, warning fellow herbivores that weren't even there. Razkar's eyes jerked upwards in shock.

Upwards. That sound had come from the sky.

He ran rowards it.

----------

"Goddess..." And he thought the Fish People were hideous.

Winged men with skin like corpses circled the screaming tons of horse flesh beneath them. They carried long spears that looked fashioned from bone, clubs that could have been femurs, swords as black as night and just as sharp. They called to each other like vultures, diving occasionally from the fading sky-

-at the woman defending herself.

Razkar broke the cover of the grassline and found himself in a field. Fifty yards away were the horses, one on its side whinnying pitifully, spears quivering in its flanks. One of the winged creatures was writhing on the ground, black blood oozing over a twitching wing and growling with rage. But there were more.

And she defended herself. Razkar's warrior instincts respected her immediately. Outnumbered and outmanouvered by an airborne enemy, she stood her ground and defended her herd and her life.

She called out to him and he blinked, trying to process the rush of Common. But he understood the first word, and any other time would have cocked a wry eyebrow.

Run? Mistress, you clearly know not my people...

Then she threw up her crossbow and fired, striking one of the creatures in the chest. It dropped with a shriek and thudded onto the ground in a cloud of dust and scattered straw, dead before it impacted. But there were more.

But she had left herself open, this pale-skinned woman, and another grey shadow swooped down and struck her. Instinct took over Razkar's body, born of centuries of Myrian warfare and decades of his own. He strode out into the field, bow rising in his hands.

A shadow crossed over him like a momentary eclipse, and he jerked his head up, bow following his hands. One of them came barrelling through the sky towards him, claws outstretched to rip and rend. Wide red eyes glare their hate down at him, along with a piercing shriek-

-which Razkar answers with an arrow loosed at it.

A moving target is never a certainty, and Razkar counted himself lucky when the arrow pierced the thing's wing. The shriek turned into a howl, one half of its flying prowess ruined in an instant, and it spun and tossed mere yards above his head. He threw himself to one side to avoid its impact as it crashed onto the ground where he stood.

Instinct. Training. Experience.

And the lust of a hungry goddess. These powered Razkar now.

He'd barely hit the ground when he snatched his axe from his belt with his right hand, rolling and swinging at the thing spasming in agony next to him. The handaxe's blade caught the thing in the neck, a spurt of blood fountaining into the air. Its eyes widened in shock and agony and Razkar felt the grinding of neckbones on the blade as he ripped it clear.

He screamed his rage at the creature again, on his knees, and finished the kill by burying the axe in its face.

And then he was up, running, axe in one hand, bow in the other, pelting towards the woman. She was back on her feet, and she was... glowing?

He suppressed the wonderment and curiosity that pinged into his mind. This was not the place. This was battle, and the only things worth knowing were to kill and to stay alive. Two of the hawk-people were dead, but there were half-a-dozen or more still circling, another wounded-

But rising.

He was thirty feet and closing when the wounded Zith rose shakily to its feet, pulling a dagger from the feathers of its unmarred wing. The woman was still massaging her head, apparently healing, not seeing as it emerged from the ground soaked with its own blood, eyes burning with anger and contempt, lipped pulled back to reveal sharp rows of teeth. Even at this distance Razkar could see it was fur, not skin that covered it, and right now it was bristling with outraged malevolence. It raised the dagger.

It didn't matter who she was, what she was. She was a warrior-woman in need to help, and there was no-one else. Furthermore, well...

There were scalps to be claimed.

The Myrian gauged the range and his chances. The handaxe was not meant for this, but it was small enough to spin properly and he didn't have time for anything else.

Razkar of the Shorn Skull screamed with a hate born from the darkest corner of Mizahar, and flung the axe overarm at the Zith behind the woman.

[Vanator]

Vanator needed to get out. He had been at the Sanctuary for a tenday and, with the help of the generous meals and Kavala's diligent attention, the drykas had regained much of his strength. But the man missed the grass, after so long stolen away from the Sea. The hour was late, but he would not travel far. Aweston had readied a horse for him, one that had been kept inside the walls for one reason or another. Vanator insisted his boss would not mind. It was a sturdy mare, not a strider, but with good conformation conducive for speed rather that bearing loads. Van was not going far into the grass, he did not don any armor, carrying only the battleax he had purchased as part of the first batch of weapons for the facility. He did not travel far from the walls. Kavala had mentioned webs, and he was curious to see what may still exist along the ground surrounding the compound. Bringing the palamino to a halt, Vanator stilled his mind, pacing his breathing. With little effort, the drykas webber could see sections of web, luminous strands of djed laid out in the greass. What was visible were small and scattered sections that were not linked, making them virtually useless as is. If he were to help repair them, it would take some time, and he was out of practice. It was then that he heard the horses. Panicked horses. His head snapped in the direction of the sounds, keen eyes searching the horizon. Not difficult to see were the dark shapes hovering over the tall grass, familiar and hated. Above the waves he saw the heads and whithers of the herd, shifting and rearing. "No." Then, the glimpse of platinum hair appeared, the tip of a crossbow raised above the carpet of grass. Kavala. "NO!" Vanator's heels dug into the horse's ribs, urging it forward. He drove the animal hard, adrenaline exploding through his body, a buried rage surfacing again. Zith. He knew them, knew them more intimately than any human should. He had fought them on several occasions. The last battle, he lost, and became their property. But he did not fear them. Vanator knew the feel of their silky furred hides, the brush of the leathery wings, the pain of their talons rending his flesh. He knew how they fought and lived. Van cursed that he did not have a Strider. Not getting there fast enough. Soon he heard the haunting sound of their language above the din of frightened horses, high pitched whines and tones no human could understand or speak. He began to yell at them, bellowing and roaring to get their attention, to draw some away. He saw one drop from the sky, hit by an arrow that was not Kavala's. Someone else was out there. A male, his fur black as night, spotted the charging drykas and moved to intercept. Vanator saw him as he streaked towards him, a jagged-tipped spear raised. It halted suddenly, hovering on broad membranous wings, and flung the weapon at the man and horse. The zith misjudged the horse's speed, his aim off by a hair, forcing Vanator to lean forward against the horses neck. The tip of the spear grazed the rump of the mare, causing it to skitter and slow. The drykas felt the animal's gait falter and he dove from the animal, landing on his back with a sound thud, the air forced from his lungs. As he lay gasping for air, Vanator could see through the narrow window in the grass above the dark enemy circle back. Finally, his lungs caught up, air filling them again. Vanator gasped, sucking in more oxygen. He sprung to his feet, grateful to realize the ax still firm in his grasp. Spotting the Zith, and the spear, he ran towards the weapon jutting from the grass, as the Zith dove for it. Man and monster reached the crude weapon at the same time. The clawed hand of the hovering zith stretched out for the spear haft. Vanator did not. Instead, his left hand reached up and seized hold of the zith's wrist, yanking down. Zith, even males, were light boned, without the mass of humans. Van knew it was how they were able to stay aloft. The zith's aerial balance was lost, its other arm swinging wide for balance, its wings flapping to correct itself. It was then that Vanator brought the iron ax to bear in a wide arc, the dull blade smashing into the crook between its neck and shoulder. The wound was not clean, but sufficient to break bones and make a jagged tear in the flesh and artery. It shrieked in a high pitch before flinging to the ground, writhing as it bled out. Van quickly took stock of the situation. The horse was gone, so Vanator raced through the tall grass, guided by the sound of battle and the attackers looming in the sky. Above it all, he heard a shout, the shout of another man. His own voice raised in desperation. "KAVALA!"

[Kavala]

The Zith were in their element. Sure, some of them were dying, but they seemingly did not mind. Wind whistled through wings filling the air with the sound of leathery membrane ruffling, gusts of wind going everywhere as the creatures circled confusing the enemies below. How many? How fierce? They were uncountable because to stop and do so would be death to those distracted below.

They had no language as they called out to each other in ranges of hearing the people below simply weren't designed to hear. But some of it was audible, high pitched clickings and guttural growls made them seem like there were even more of them than there perhaps actually were. And the ground beneath the fighters feet was already wet from blood.

The horse that was down screamed again and surged to its feet, dragging the spears protruding from its form with it. The grey animal bared its teeth revealing sharp almost predatory enamel dentition and reached around to grab one of the spears in its mouth and pull it out. It shrieked in pain as it did so, and was unable to reach the other one. The pain drove it back to its knees. The other horses milled about, circling in confusion. But five of them separated out, bared similarly sharp teeth, and began charging around their herdmate, protecting the mare, and offering the Zith a fight as well. Kavala was proud of that fact, absently, for she knew she'd bred this blood into her new Denusk horses, keeping the fierceness and ability not to be afraid but loosing the carnivorous nature.

But there was no time to admire the reaction. The horse on its knees was as good as dead even as it took another spear to the back of its neck going down for good this time and not getting back up.

Kavala was near blind from the pain of the blow to the back of her head as well. The winged rats above them wasted no time before trying to disable their prey. Mere inches difference and she'd been out cold or worse, dead. But the Zith had aimed badly and only blinded the healer with the force of his blow - blinded her by pain. Throwing up her hands, she did what she could do to get herself on her feet. Down on the ground and she was dead, just like the mare. Blinded by pain and she was she was dead, just like the mare. So she covered the wound and forced it back to its normal state, which was the quickest and dirtiest way to heal. Kavala would pay for it later, but it allowed her to surge to her feet, and whirl at the pounding steps. She'd momentarily forgotten about the stranger, having expected him to obey and run. His scream of rage snapped her attention back to him and she turned, allowing him to divide her attention. But as she turned she saw him hurl an axe straight at her and she reacted without thought. Kavala flung herself down once more, trying to avoid the missile.

What the petch?

Kavala caught a glimpse of something as she fell, turning her dive down into a roll and locked onto the sight just as it happened. The stranger's axe buried itself in the Zith's face, ending abruptly a compulsion to heal the fallen zith that Kavala hadn't even recognized through the pain. The abrupt departure of the compulsion signaled the creatures death, as she rolled back to her feet, glad for her martial arts training.

Kavala glanced over her shoulder to see thank the stranger but instead turned her words of thanks into words of warning. "Behind you and above!" She screamed as a pair of male ziths dove, each intending to latch onto one of the Myrian's arms and lift him aloft, where they could drop him from a lethal height.

The Konti surged to her feet, her eyes scanning for her crossbow and then dove for it, her feet pushing and her body throwing itself out the ten feet it needed to traverse to get the weapon back in her hands. She pulled a bolt from her sheath still firmly attached to her back and shoved it home into the weapon. She grasped the lever, cocked the bow, and set the arrow in its firing keyway. Kavala lifted it skyward, tracing the Zith circling, and let another bolt loose, this one narrowly missing, passing through the space under the nearest Zith's arm and torso. An inch aimed right or left would have had the bolt in the female's ribs.

She reloaded, running this time, the horses doing an odd thing. They abandoned their dead and circled her, the bloodbanes did while the other animals scattered, giving the Zith a confusing range of targets. She turned, the circling horses confusing her as much as the circling zith did, and reloaded automatically not having a target as of yet.

The Konti heard a scream, then another, realizing it was her name and looked up to see a familiar blonde figure unhorsed. She yelled, flung her head sideways checking on the Myrian, and then swung up on the nearest horse as it passed by. She flung the crossbow across her back and simply reached up, grabbing a fist full of mane and jumped, letting the momentum of the Ravokian warhorse carry her body upwards and across its back. Once she set her heels, she felt safer, more mobile, and she connected to the animal with her gift, feeling the animals rage. Bloodbanes... they were never afraid. They were only always angry. She used that emotion and bent the mare's will to her own and turned her, driving her with her heels and seat towards the man who threw the axe. She circled the dark skinned stranger once, trying to confuse the Zith, then pulled out a bola from her harness and began to swing the thing, the three weighted balls helping. The Konti released it, letting it arch out and tangle one of the wings of the creature closest to her, one that was diving right towards her. It was one of the monsters going for the dark-skinned myrian.

The thing fell from the sky like one of Zintila's stars and the bloodbane Kavala was mounted on reared up over the fallen creature and stomped down, fighting as fiercely as person would, her weapons its teeth and hooves. Kavala clung, keeping her seat and balance, shifted backwards, helping the mare by getting out of the way of her shoulders so the animal could really move.

Kavala then bent the mare when the Zith stopped moving, and send her charging towards Vanator. They were still some distance apart though and there wasn't much she could do until she got there - if she got there.

The Zith scattered suddenly, upon some unheard command, pulled up, and regrouped. They then dove again as one, in a complex pattern designed to make them look far larger than number than they were, and began the attack anew.

[Razkar]

Razkar laughed in a harsh, dry bark, grin spreading over his face for the first time in months. A fine shot! A beautiful blow, and look how the eye popped when the axe hit! But the woman screamed something else to him, keeping her attention on the battle. More of the creatures were arriving, or just revealed themselves from hiding. Maybe a dozen, perhaps less, or more. Their constant swooping and clicking made it impossible to tell, and Razkar switched to his bow, notching an arrow as he kept running.

"Behind you and above!"

Razkar frowned even as he ran. What was that last word? Damnit he-

Twin shadows darted over him from behind, and he decided he didn't need to translate.

He tossed a look over his shoulder and saw two of the creatures, leathery wings as broad as monstrous bats, bearing down on his fast, one to each side. It didn't take a scholar to figure what they planned.

The Myrian dove forwards, not daring to slow or stop his advance, twisting his body in mid-air to face the creatures swooping down on him. Along with his bow. He aimed it flat at the one on the right, pulled the string and loosed the arrow just before his back hit the cushion of grass beneath him.

But these creatures were not stupid, despite their looks. They learned, and quickly. They had seen their comrade fall to his arrow, and scattered peeled off before the arrow had truly begun flight.

One peeled away as the arrow sailed past them, missing completely. But its mate, or friend, or whatever in the Hells these creatures had, was not so controlled. With a screech of sadistic joy it crashed into Razkar's prone body, talon-like hands ripping into his shoulder, getting a good grip for the upcoming flight.

The Myrian howled in rage and pain, but when the Zith looked down to relish the fear in its eyes, it saw only fierce, brutal joy-

"Dumb krok."

Razkar's left hand shot out, grabbed a handful of hair behind the creature's head, jerked it close and buried his teeth into its throat.

Instantly the Zith went from furious to terrified, agony surging through it as teeth like needles ripped and rent at its jugular. Razkar nearly moaned in ecstasy as those chompers of his ripped through the truly horrid-tasting fur and into the sweet red wetness beyond it. An artery was torn open and blood filled his mouth, and he held on tighter.

The Zith screamed, blind panic overtaking it, all plans and strategy forgotten. Its winged beat frantically, tossing the two entwined beings over and over, but Razkar snaked his legs around it waist, jamming his head further into the gushing neck to stop any jabs or claws getting into his face.

Goddess, this is a fine vintage.

The Zith scratched insanely, feeling its life force eke out of it with every second. Every stroke drew blood from the savage human attacking him but it was too petrified to strike for vital organs, arteries or limbs. Finally its wings beat in tandem, scattering grass and carrying it upwards-

Not if Razkar had anything to do with it. His right arm, shoulder stinging from those talons, pulled the gladius from its place on his belt, and thrust it blindly into the creature. Then again. And again. And again.

No scream. The Zith was already pale, blood pouring over the Myrian's face and chest, drenching him as he finally let his teeth disengage. There was no breath left in its body to scream, or shriek, or even growl in anger. They duo fell a few feet, the Zith on its back, Razkar on top, wings twitching spasmodically.

Razkar reared up, crimson and gleaming and heart pumping so hard and happily that he wanted this moment to go on forever-

And roared his victory at the circling swarm above them.

Looking back at the fading-fast Bird Creature, he reversed his grip on the gladius with one easy flick of his wrist, and without ceremony cut its throat open with one swipe. The expected arterial burst was but a trickle now, a dribble, which told him all he needed to know.

Its eyes were already dead by the time he got to his feet.

Pain. Wounds. Injuries. He knew he had a half-dozen on him now, the shoulder worst of all. But his mark and this ecstatic battle-rush would aid him for now, keep him focused and moving.

Krok. He lost his petching bow. Shadows danced over him as he scanned wildly for it, then saw it a few feet away. He snatched it up just as another creature began to swoop low at him, war club held high above its head. Damn it, he wasn't thinking this through. They were separated, the two of them, easy meat for these creatures. He had lost his axe, was wounded, and only killed three and wounded another. How many were there? A dozen? They were-

Since when did that matter, warrior? He heard his Goddess's voice boom in his own skull, the mark on his neck blazing like an inferno worse than mere claws or steel ever could. Fight or die.

He reached over his back for an arrow with his right, bow in his left, the creature swooping down, mouth open in a soundless scream of anger, heading straight for his torso.

Razkar grinned. They really did need to learn to keep their distance.

He bent his knees and jumped as the creature got close, lashing out with one leg as suddenly it's torso target became legs and feet-

Razkar aimed for it's jaw but got his boot connected with it's shoulder, instead-

-the war club kept swinging, smashing into his thigh.

No amount of adrenaline would take that agony, and Razkar crumpled to the ground, sure something was broken inside his leg. It would not have been the first time, but now? It could be his end. The creature crashed to the ground next to him, shoulder already bruised, Rakar's blow messing with its wings coordination and they wings flapped out of synch-

-then it heard something roar, slow and first, a growl or snarl, then growing in such hate and disgust that its hair stood up-

Razkar half-fell, half-lunged over from his one good leg at the creature, burying his arrow in the thing's eye.

Another shriek of agony, of pain, a chorus of pleasure that undulated through him even through his own injury. The flat-tipped arrow burst the eye socket like a grape, juice and pus splashing across Razkar's chin as he held the shaft like a dagger, no time to get his gladius back out his sheath. Instead he just screamed in bloody-minded rage, pushing it deeper and deeper as the thing spasmed beneath him-

With a grunt he pushed harder, feeling it hit something squishy, breaking the shaft in his hand, an inch of it sticking out the thing's eye-

Which lay twitching on the blood-soaked grass, remaining eye staring sightlessly upwards in a picture of terrified horror.

Razkar spat at it in the face, snarling down at it.

"Krok."

But the battle still raged, and now he knew he was at a disadvantage. He managed to get to his knees through sheer will, but any further made his left leg howl in agony that vibrated every remaining bone he had. But Razkar of the Shorn Skulls ignored it, teeth clenched and sweat gleaming with the blood drenching him.

Petch the leg. Petch the pain. And petch these winged petching monsters.


Another swooped and his right arm jerked up to find a quiver, but his fingers were going numb. Blood loss. His left leg wobbled and with a disgusted growl he threw down the bow as the thing shot closer, determined to end this ant below her kind with the sword in her hand. Razkar drew his sword, shifting to his left. If he would die, he would die with-

Suddenly a wall of horse flesh flashed in front of him, a gigantic creature with the woman mounting it. The Zith blinked in astonishment, something whirling, spinning in the woman's hand, then loosed-

A bola. Razkar grunted. So, they do have some culture here.

The Zith was too stunned to move out the way, dropping like a stone as one of its wings was tangled and folded over by the three-roped weapon. Before Razkar could even raise his sword though, the fierce, frothing, red-eyed beast of a horse did his job for him, stamping over and over again on the prone Zith until his upper body was paste.

"KAVALA!"

Someone else burst from the grass, a tall, blonde human with broad shoulders, bloodied axe in his hands and terrified anger in his eyes. Razkar wondered for the tiniest second why, then turned his attention to the sight above.

The flock. It moved as if with a single mind, like a cloud or a swarm of bees. The winged creatures swooped up into the dim light above them, a shower of glittering fur and wing, coming together... and then falling down and down in one massive wall of furious abomination, weapons held high.

Razkar had the time now. He notched an arrow, gasping at the pain as he drew back the string, and ran after the horse-woman as she rode towards the new arrival.

The sun was setting, and the night would belong to these monsters. The had regrouped and were attacking en masse. They had to end this now.

[Vanator]

Vanator seethed with rage and frustration, his feet pounding through the grass towards Kavala. He momentarily lost her behind the grass. The drykas tried to makes sense of the chaos from the ground, looking for patterns in the movement of the horses, for the sources of the missiles that shot the zith from the sky, trying to sift through the madness and the grass to identify the mysterious defender. He roared in anger to gain attention from the winged beasts, knowing he was now less visible to the attackers while on foot. Suddenly Kavala appeared again, hoisting herself onto a horse. Altering his course, Van sped towards her as she engaged the zith dangerously close before turning towards him. One of the hovering females perceived the konti's destination, seeing the man running to the battle. She pealed away and towards Van, racing to beat the bloodbane-mounted woman to her target. Vanator saw the she-zith too, bellowing a challenge. "Come on you filthy petching bitch!" He raised the makeshift battle ax, racing towards the descending creature. The thing outstripped Kavala, on a collision course with Vanator. The drykas stretched out his stride and vaulted up, ax arm cocked back, ready to meet the zith head on. She slammed into him, digging her claws into his broad shoulders. The momentum drove Vanator backwards, his left arm wrapping around the she-zith to keep balance. Fangs bared, the creature went for Van's neck. The drykas was able to bash the top of the ax against her face, over and over until, bloodied and with shattered teeth, she released her talons and dropped Vanator. With a groan he fell to his knees, looking up and chambering back the ax for another attack. But the female suddenly pulled up, wobbling away towards her gathering mates. The flesh of his shoulders seared with pain, his tunic shredded and bloody. The sound of pounding hooves drew his attention again, standing to see Kavala charging his way. "Over here! Quick!" He knew what would come next, seeing the weaving pattern of the bat-winged zith as they surged forward as one mass. He and Kavala would have to stick close to defend against the assault, the two of them and whomever was now racing towards them through the grass. Van moved hastily to pull a discarded spear from the ground, clutching it in his left hand, the chopping ax in the other, waiting for Kavala and the stranger, and the zith, to arrive.

[Kavala]

Vanator's sister never reached his side, even mounted. She was trying to track the Myrian's progress, but between watching the skies and trying to get to Vanator and controlling the surging animal beneath her, Kavala didn't stand a chance. "We need to stick together, not scatter and give them multiple targets!" She screamed behind her, hoping the Myrian could run like the wind and keep up. She wouldn't feel safe until she was back to back with Vanator and hopefully the stranger, providing no targets for the Zith and picking them off one by one hopefully before it got dark.

Kavala dug her boot heels into the mare, mentally wincing as she urged more speed out of the bloodbane. The beast was already snarling, frothing bloody foam from her nose, the heat of the battle upon her. But it was hard tos ee the sky clearly, ride, check on the myrian behind, and not run straight over her brother. Kavala sat down deeper on the mare's back, the thin blanket hiding none of her body motions, and pulled the horse up short into a rear several feet away from Vanator. She started to slide off, her weapon clutched firmly in one hand, when leathery wingbeats deafened her and arms snatched her upwards.

Like a slingshot she was propelled upwards, one zith on each arm lifting, their guttural inhuman sounds filling her with terror. She screamed, abruptly and unexpectedly, and they both dropped her. She fell, tumbling end over end, until she landed feet first and crumpled with a sickening crack, a bone splitting up out of the side of her thigh.

Kavala didn't stop screaming, clawing at the ground around her as if looking for a weapon. Her hand closed on a rock, forgetting all about the weapons belt on her and she hurled it ineffectively up and away, aimed at no one in particular, more of a reactionary move rather than any real trained defense. Blood gushed from her thigh, and she rolled over, so she was on her side and the bone wasn't touching the ground.

As if the Zith sensed blood, they redoubled their efforts, almost frenzied by the Konti's fall and compound fracture. Kavala lay there panting a moment, tears of pain streaming down her face. A shadow crossed her view of the quickly setting sun and she threw up her hands to protect her face. But it was the bloodbane mare whom she'd been plucked from. The horse had turned and defended rather than ran, being trained as a warhorse from a young age and sticking to that training.

Kavala tapped her mark, covered her leg in her hands and screamed as she began her own healing. But the action left her completely vulnerable though the healer had no choice because she was bleeding out and had to get something healed before she lost consciousness. Kavala should have been stoic, toughened to battle, and able to handle it. But her broken leg hurt worse than anything she had ever experienced. It caused her vision to swim and her consciousness to wane, drifting in and out. She fought it, and screaming helped, so she did so with a vicious snarling sound that was more rage than pain as she worked.

[Razkar]

He willed himself to still the shaking wood and metal in his hands. Forced himself to remember his mindset when he had that deer flush in his sights, five minutes and a thousand years ago. Calm. Force it. Bend your body to the mind's will.

He let the arrow fly into the swooping mass.

Razkar had seen the compound bow kill at three hundred yards, compact size hiding a deviously simple construction that sacrificed none of its killing power for range. He'd seen arrows slice through men's chests at two hundred. Now, at less than a hundred, it was Dira's own hand.

But he was not Dira.

The arrow sailed wide, missing the mass of the creatures. Razkar cursed and reached upwards for his quiver.

It was chaos. Normally that would not have bothered Razkar: battlefield chaos was a symphony he knew very well. But this was without plan or form, and the woman's scream was all-too accurate. Separated scattered, they would be easy meat for these creatures. Only together would they stand any chance of breaking their will to fight.

He had only one advantage, as far as he could see: they were not focused on him. The pale woman was down, hideously wounded and screaming like an animal as her body glowed, bones knitting with agonized sloth. That blood-crazed mount of hers, who reminded Razkar of nothing less than one of his own people in the throes of battle, guarded her in a frenzy, and the tall, broad human who'd nearly smashed in the face of one of those monsters was by her side, axe and spear held ready.

And the monsters were diving at them. Not him.

Don't waste this.

Razkar's right arm jerked back and drew an arrow, notching it even as blood flowed down to his elbow. His teeth gritted not so much in pain not but sheer hatred. For them. For his weakness. For a world that would deny him blood for his goddess.

A hatred that kept him alive.

He pulled the string back and aimed at the horde, letting at fly at the center of the group, leading it by a few feet. Razkar had used a bow before, but only in stealthy, precise hunting, not a raging battle against flying monsters, and it showed.

The arrow sailed through the swarm, hitting nothing, but the creatures scattered briefly, like a flock of birds that had a falcon swooping through them.

Break them up. Whittle them down.

Before the creature even began to fall Razkar had drawn another arrow, notched it and let it fly, but it was growing harder to keep his aim from trembling. Again, it missed. And they were getting closer, closer...

Safety in numbers. Get with the humans.

Razkar ran towards them. Every step on his wounded leg sent another shudder of screeching, shocking pain vibrating through his body, but there was no other option, and Razkar almost enjoyed those moments. Act or die. Fight or die. Overcome or die.

It clarified one's path.

He was screaming in rage and pain when he got close to his two bloodied erstwhile-comrades, reaching back for another arrow from his quiver-

A shadow passed over him, a gust of wind too close and too fast to be the weather, the whoosh of a weapon sailing through the air. He grabbed his gladius, drawing it-

-not fast enough.

The dagger sliced into his left upper arm and he yelped in pain, dropping the bow. The Myrian's eyes literally went red, gnosis burning in outrage and desperation, and he swung his entire body around in an arc, sword swung horizontal.

The Zith had swooped low and flapped maybe four feet from the ground. Its roar of triumph turned to agony as its left leg was cleaved away at the knee, blood gushing from the stump. It's wings spasmed and twitched and one of them slapped Razkar around the face, knocking him to the ground. His vision became black stars and purple explosions, but through it he saw the creature writhing a few feet from him, blood pumping from the wide-open artery in its leg.

Razkar kept watching as the struggling slowed, the shrieking lessened... and it lay still.

The swarm drove closer, movements faster, screeching and whoops and clicks louder, higher, as if driven into a frenzy by the fresh blood beneath them. He panted into the ground, unable to feel his left arm, his leg numbed, tired... so tired...

... NO!

Would it end this way? On his stomach, to be killed and eaten by unworthy monsters? His great foray into the world, cut short by mere winged vermin? No. So get... up!

Straining, grunting, sweat covering his body as much as blood, the Myrian rolled onto his back and fumbled for his bow. He backed up against the body of the fallen Zith into roughly a sitting position, notched an arrow into his bow with trembling fingers, and drew it back with a shout of pain. The human woman was still healing and the man stood over her, spear and axe ready, face stiff with fear but eyes unwavering.

Razkar approved, and thought it fitting to die with the brave around him.

The swarm began to close on them, and Razkar of the Shorn Skulls grinned at their hellish faces, voice carrying loud and strong and mocking their fury.

"Come! Come forward and work for your dinner!"

[Vanator]

Vantator backpeddled as the frenzied bloodbane reared up before him, staring in wide-eyed horror as two zith seized Kavala and hoisted her aloft. The Drykas ran after them, yelling wordless anger, which fell silent as his sister plummeted to the ground. The sounds of her screaming in agony drove him harder, arriving at her side just after the blood-crazed mare came to her mistress's defense. Spear in one hand, ax in the other, Vanator swung and jabbed, keeping the attackers at bay until he planted his feet soundly by Kavala. He saw one, then another creature drop from the sky as the stranger plied his arrows against the winged mass. The monsters were relentless, and the man and horse were quickly growing weary of the endless assault. The spear had only limited effect, held in his offhand, and a daring male dove close enough to lay hold of its shaft with both hands. Vanator resisted for a moment, long enough for the zith to focus his energy on rending the weapon from the human's grasp. Then Van let the weapon slip through his hands. Too late, the creature saw the raised ax that arched up and across its abdomen, opening its belling. Black blood sprayed forth, and the zith dropped to the ground with a thud, its mouth moving in unheard whines as its hands tried to keep its entrails from spilling out. Vanator's hastily darting glances assessed his comrades. The bizarre warrior was nearby now, just having hacked apart a large male with a short sword. Kavala had not lost her senses to shock, and was trying to heal her gruesome wound. The three of them were now spattered with blood and gore, the air filled with the konti's screams of pain, the shrieks and growls of the winged attackers, the defiant cry of the savage and the almost unnatural sounds of the ferocious bloodbane mare. The Drykas, Myrian and warhorse now surrounded Kavala, restricting the vantages of attack for the zith and limiting the number of them that could engaged at any time. After a fleeting moment, Vanator's gaze lifted again towards the sky, in time to see a bone war club hurtling towards him. He deflected it with the ax, momentarily leaving his back open. A female wielding a scourge dipped low to lash the weapon across his back. Shards of glass and sharp bone fragments attached to leather straps embedded in the skin, tearing at the cloth of his tunic and shredding flesh from his back as the creature jerked it loose. Van cried out, swinging the ax with a back hand that cut through empty air. His muscles were sore and pain seared through rent flesh of his shoulders and back. Stray hairs stuck to the sweat and blood on his face, spittle flecked his lips as he drew each heaving breath into aching lungs. He no longer spoke or roared at the attackers, every ounce of energy conserved to poured into each swing, dodge and block.

[Kavala]

Kavala thankfully had gone hoarse, though she kept up the screams of pain that came with each panted breath. The sound she made was inhuman, even as she closed the wound on her leg and rolled to her knees. She knew immediately her feet wouldn't hold her so she crawled, driven by the healers compulsion, to the nearest Zith Vanator had fallen and slit its throat. Its death brought her a momentary relief until another one fell, not quite dead, to the strangers arrows. The horse was hurt, Vanator was hurt, even the stranger was hurt. Their pain drew her as Rak'keli's compulsion kicked hard into overdrive. But she froze, her long white silk hair stained red with blood, not knowing which way to go first nor whom to help.

They skies, thankfully, cleared almost instantly. Too many Zith had fallen, and while they were mindless animals in the eyes of the three they hunted, they actually had enough intelligence to know the odds were not in their favor. They split off, some landing by the first scene of battle, to hack the fallen horse to bits and hoist meat onto their shoulders while lifting off again. A bolder one, a large male, even swooped down and snatched a running foal, dropping it from the sky to kill it. It dropped, retrieved the carcass, and was off with the others, those left heavily laden with meat.

Kavala, still panting, called softly to the Bloodbane. She was beyond calming though, the screaming horse circling the battlefield, tearing into fallen zith if so much as the wind ruffled their hair on dead heads. Finally, at the edge of the carnage, she stopped and tore into one of the carcasses, eating the flesh as if she was a big predator, her sharp teeth making short work of the flesh. Kavala had six of them, had that was before the zith had taken one down. Four more, those remaining, seemingly normal within the herd of mixed horses, came forward as well and began to feed.

The others, more normal, regrouped, the herd stallion gathering them neatly. The mare that lost her foal kept whinnying for it, staring off as if she expected it to come running.

Both men were hurt but Vanator was on his feet. So when Kavala moved, she moved towards the stranger, the one that looked as if he too had leg issues. She didn't trust her legs yet, no yet, and so she moved like an infant, hands and knees, until she reached the strangers side.

"Kavala...." She crocked out an introduction, then didn't wait. She was mindful of his weapons, but more concerned with assessing his injuries before moving on to her brother. Her hands were already luminous as she reached forward, closing cuts, scrapes and teeth marks as she went, looking for deeper injuries across his ribs and legs.