They trekked for bells. Long enough for men to grow weary, panting, sweat dripping under Syna's yellow vigil. There was not much conversation. Words were muttered and brief; at times it must have seemed there was hardly enough air to go around. The Nuit felt her muscles warm, the motion enough to bring out some heat... but her breaths came steady and her limbs did not strain in the same way that the others' sometimes did. She could endure physical exertion and would feel absolutely nothing unless her muscles or nerves were torn; this dead body that she wore epitomized the next-closest thing to pure, everlasting endurance.
Still, the journey wasn't easy. A lot of the climb was just that: a climb. Most of it was uphill, ranging from a light incline in some places to becoming so steep as to be dangerous in others. There were rocks that had to be scurried over, and uneven, rough footing that begged to twist ankles and cause boots to skid. Isolde just did her best to keep on her feet, finding it not too tough of a job if she was cautious. She routinely alternated where she looked, up-down, up-down. When she wasn't watching where she was stepping her eyes were sweeping the skies, gaze sharp as to pierce the clouds. Searching for the sinuous twisting of a snake amid the blue, for the sight of the sea-serpent of the sky.
So of course she was looking at her feet when it happened. The lead Knight called for them to stop, and the Nuit dropped to her belly like the rest, hunkering down, peering up with dull, blue eyes.
The thing flew overhead.
The wind generated from its gigantic wings was enough to send a breeze across Isolde's face, tousling her short, blonde hair and rustling her clothes. Her hood fell back, and underneath there was a look almost akin to wonder on her features. So this was the Balicani. This great, slithering shadow that drifted over them all. That awesome sparkling of emerald scales, so pretty, shining fit to blind the eyes. Like all the stories she had heard growing up, but somehow unlike the stories, too. Majestic as it soared. Terrible in its beauty.
A scream shattered the air, along with the abrupt, dusty sound of thumping, running feet. The beast whirled, clutching, dragging this sudden threat into the air, up, up, up, and then the man was falling, crunch, to the ground, bones cracking, scream abruptly cut short as he met rock and grass, life crushed out of his broken frame--
Terrible in its temper, as well. The Balicani spotted the rest and bellowed out its rage, and then the Nuit was on her feet and they were all running towards the cover of the trees, bounding to safety like deer before a dire wolf. Like prey before a predator.
Except they were the ones supposed to be hunting.
None of it felt real. Isolde had pressed herself against the hard trunk of a tree, the archers and crossbowmen loading arrows and bolts into place all around her, calloused hands shaking. The Knight was shouting for them to aim at the wings, shoot the wings, shoot the wings, bring this beast to the ground! His words excited no flurry inside her as it did in the others. Neither had the first man's tumbling, shrieking death. Isolde could conjure no fear, no sadness, no dismay. She peered out from around her tree, trying to see past branches, trying to make herself feel what she should be feeling. There was nothing. She gave up. The Nuit simply made sure that Matthew had made it to the treeline --offering him a humorless smile when she saw that he had-- and then she craned her neck once more to keep an eye on the beast.
Their attack so far was not making much of an impression on the creature. There were a good number of projectiles being loosed at the Balicani... but the wind displaced with each flap of his great wings was driving them off course, causing most to go soaring past, harmlessly into the sky or, oppositely, seeming to suck their momentum away, sending them fluttering back down to the dirt. Isolde would not have a shot at its eyes until it was grounded; so, then, all there was to do was wait. Wait here, under what little cover the group had--
Until the serpent swooped down, all wind and glittering green scales and spurting venom like foul-smelling, foul-colored saliva. A man was hit nearby. For a flash the Nuit thought about running over to drag him to better cover. But within ticks his flesh and organs --even his very bones-- had dissolved into a nasty, meaty, softly bubbling paste. There would be no helping him.
Everyone was running, now, at the Knight's orders. Isolde sprinted with the others, scrambling from her original position within the trees out into the open, zig-zagging forward before turning on her toes and tearing off in the opposite direction, trying to make herself a hard target. She was hoping to stay out of the way in general. Until they forced the foul reptile to the ground, she was useless. And it looked like their goal might take a while--
Oh wait, nevermind.
The redhead, Edreina, had provoked the beast somehow. It was swooping down again, but, no...! It had landed, was crawling and squirming and giving chase, and the Nuit paused in her run to watch it go, struck motionless by its strange brilliance. She saw Razkar race after it, loosing an arrow to slam into its scaly hide, seeing it bend back in response as if it had no true spine, snapping its jaws at a new target before laboriously alighting to the sky once more on damaged wings.
Though it was injured, the thing was still well able to fly, and it had not been much dissuaded from its attack. The Balicani soared high immediately, buying a respite from the many arrows targeting its more delicate parts... before it swung back low again. Its attacks had grown all the more frenzied and fearsome, the pain of its injuries causing it to go into a blood rage. It swooped down and another hapless hunter was snatched from his feet. He tried his best to hack at the Balicani's legs, desperate to free himself--
And then just like that he had been rended apart. His body hit the ground in scattered pieces, clothed in bloody rags and scraps of shimmering metal. Blood sprinkled from the sky like warm red rain. The Nuit turned her face down to keep the shower from her eyes--
And everywhere she looked archers had already used up most of their supply. Really, half of Isolde's dodging was due to falling projectiles, arrows and bolts whose paths had been altered by the harried beating of the Balicani's great wings. She had witnessed at least one unlucky man take an arrow and fall, confused by this unexpected attack, to the ground, spilling blood from his neck where it had hit. When she swept her gaze around, the Nuit saw that the ground was littered with spent shot.
No time to do anything. The beast was heading low again, dancing overhead. Isolde ran to the trees with the others to avoid the next attack from questing claws and teeth. Branches snapped and swung, leaves shaken free to the ground, as if the trees themselves feared the assault.
When they next rushed back out of the treeline, the Nuit ran low, bent-over, new purpose held firmly in her mind. She spirited to the nearest bunch of felled arrows and began plucking up those that were not too deeply embedded in the ground and those whose shafts had not been snapped by impact on unforgiving scales or stones. The bowmen could use these back, and she figured that recycling them would be necessary if they planned to have enough ammo to actually shoot the creature down, especially at the slow rate that they were wounding him--
The Balicani passed over her and dipped a wing, turning, seeming to orient on the Nuit for a moment, her face like a pale-white target against the dark of the ground. And then it saw Edreina, again, and roared after her, fixated on that flash of burning red hair, and the Nuit did not spare the time to see if the girl made it safely out of harm's way--
She simply dashed to the next area were a volley had landed, digging the spent arrows up, hands dirtied by mud and blood. As soon as she had a goodly number the Nuit dashed back to the treeline. She dumped her burden on the ground not far from those still skulking in the trees and hollered, "Arrows, here!" before pausing. Holding her place... waiting for the Balicani to fly free. Where was the beast? She could hear it thrashing, knocking aside trees, and realized, once more, that it had landed though she could not see where... and then there it was, floating higher and higher, wings pushing hard, lashing its head and neck around as if in distress though she could only guess at why. The Nuit looked for the right moment... and then headed back out.
A man was running with her, breathing harshly behind her, apparently one of the others who were useless as long as the Balicani wasn't on the ground, intent on helping her gather the misfired missiles. Knowing, like her, that conservation of ammunition was all that would bring the beast to heel--
And the Balicani flew in near again, still whipping its head about as if it had somehow been hurt, making a strange, enraged choking noise. Time to get the hell out of the way, quick. They were both running, neck-and-neck, side-by-side, a double target, more noticeable--
Isolde looked over her shoulder, seeing the monster's gaping jaw as it prepared to hurl a misting spray in their direction, seeing its belly distend grossly, seeing it arch its neck in that tell-tale manner--
She grabbed her companion by the arm, dragging him with her to the side as the creature spit, but it wasn't enough, they were both going to get hit, their flesh would boil and melt, no--
And without thinking she screamed, white mist exploding from her mouth, curling directly into the path of the acidic spittle, transmuting into a hard slap of air as it went--
Somehow the deadly spew missed them, missed them both, splattering to the ground, and she was surprised to see blood in the mix of green chewing a hole into the grass. Isolde didn't know if her Reimancy had actually managed to knock the liquid away or if the beast had missed for some other reason, of which there could be many. She didn't care to hang around and find out. Both she and her helper rushed to cover, gripping each other tightly, dumping more arrows to the pile, which was diminishing as fast as they could supply.
It went on like that in a pattern. As soon as the beast soared high the two would turn and run back out, retrieving what they could in the short amount of time that it was 'safe' to do so, aiding the fight in their own, small way. They would continue to do so for as long as was necessary, or until the battle shifted.
Will probably be edited at some point.
