Flashback The Farmer's Daughter(Solo)

[Raien Ironarm Pitrius]

49th of Summer, 5 0 9 AV

Raien quickly forced the surging tempest of his magical essence through and into his now exhausted biceps, willing it to glide, with more than a little coaxing, through the bulging contours all the way into his forearms. Feeling it fill and permeate nearly every muscle that’s needed to skillfully handle a blade. Still, not skilled enough in the magic to pinpoint anything more specific than an entire arm, and definitely not able to target muscle groups. He was forced to exude precious reserves of energy, and ultimately he knew he’d be more than a little taxed after the battle had passed.

Still, all inefficiencies aside; with this newfound, and somewhat quickly, but not so easily gained strength; Raien parried the blow of his previously relentless attacker. The shocked, and perhaps dazed look on the man's face conveying to the young Half-Isur that he too felt the force of Raien's Flux flowing through his arms, albeit in a slightly different and quite a bit more painful way.

Truly, the look on his opponent’s face signaled the turning of the tables, where before it had been Raien on edge, painstakingly accessing the situation, over thinking every move on both his and the other man's behalf. Trying desperately and misguidedly to avoid killing himself or anyone else. All the while the would-be bandit, whom he was only really half-fighting, was seemingly mindlessly chopping away at his flesh. And even for all his quick dodging, bolstered by his Half-Isur muscles no less, Raien could not avoid the inevitable gash, or rather multiple gashes that had quickly begun to accumulate all over his torso and neighboring extremities.

But now with the fog of battle, more than happily drifting and overcoming the now rejuvenated and numbing half-breed. Raien was no longer thinking on how he could save two men this day, rather he was focusing on and working towards preserving only one, whatever the cost would reveal itself to be. And indeed perhaps if he had been a little more coherent and more concerned with that “cost”, and not fogged down with a rising magically and shock induced blood-lust, he would have noticed that the other man was no more than a common man down on his luck. Perhaps he would have noticed the blond doe-eyed little girl peeking from behind a nearby tree, fright and worry more than apparent on her fragile face.

And even while he did notice the man's shockingly poor fighting technique, obviously betraying his untrained and no doubt peasant status. The Raien of the moment, no longer thinking “coherently” simply reveled in his opponents misfortune, knocking aside the increasingly laughable and terrified swings of the almost-archaic blade, rusted from generations of hanging idle and unused over the hearths of it's wielder's ancestors. Still, far from showing pity as he batted away another unskilled whack, the solemn look on the Flux user's face began to betray some form of adrenaline-induced euphoria.

His new found and growing thrill aside, Raien couldn't shake an equally as dominating feeling that something was wrong, that he was doing something wrong. Indeed perhaps by the grace of Tyveth himself, the pommel of the bandit’s sword slipped quickly past Raien’s defenses. cracking dangerously near his temple and sending blood trickling down into and stinging his left eye, it was the uncharacteristic resounding burst of anger that followed, that shocked his remaining senses enough to knock him out of his merciless, battle-induced trance., and quickly sent him inward, back to his own thoughts once again. “How could I have given in so easily? Maybe I could just knock him out, mayb-…”

Indeed, maybe if the good natured swordsman had been allowed to finish his train of thought, he would have found some way to end the fight peacefully or as peacefully as possible anyway, no doubt saving multiple lives that day. Perhaps, if his numbing and shocked body hadn’t interpreted the random and overwhelming blast of pain that suddenly shot through him, as coming from the man he had only moments before been thinking of saving. And perhaps if the same stabbing pain hadn’t been so quickly followed by another, Raien wouldn’t have used the last of his remaining Flux induced strength, to almost instinctually run the man before him through. And he most certainly wouldn’t have turned and swung aimlessly behind himself, lobbing the blond head of the true source of the painful affronts, clean off the petite shoulders it had just seconds before rested upon, sending it and the small lifeless body into the dirt, right beside the corpse of her father, but not before the dagger, only moments before nestled between her delicate fingers, slipped down, the noise it produced when it hit the rock-filled soil hardly noticeable.

Quickly following the fall of two lifeless bodies, the exhausted and overwhelmed Raien felt his knees trembling, whether weakened from the unknown amount of lost blood or the unforeseen emotional turmoil gripping his very soul, Raien couldn’t really tell. Still, whether his plight was of physical or spiritual origin. The results were most certainly the same either way. Unable to catch himself, and unsure of whether he really wanted to, the exhausted battle-mage was sent spiraling to the ground. Unconscious before he even hit the cold ground, or rather before he hit either of the two bodies’ already strewn out before and under him.

[Raien Ironarm Pitrius]

49th of Summer, 5 0 9 AV

Awakening with a fright, an unknown nightmare already erasing itself from memory. Raien found to his disgust, that the current reality was far worse than any dream, as he starred into the long expired eyes of the father and would-be bandit, whom he’d apparently fallen upon when he’d collapsed. As the smell of the decomposition already gripping the two bodies wafted in and around the air, and straight into his curling nose. And as he felt his own freezing wounds and gashes, covered in the cold sweat of his sleep, struggling to seal themselves. Raien suddenly wished the gods would pity him, and send him back to that sweet sanctuary that was his dream. He wished he hadn't looked into those eyes.

And at that moment he realized, these were the first eyes he had seen not lit by the sparkle of life. These were the first eyes, frozen in time by a swing of his sword. They were the eyes of his kin, they were his brother’s eyes, and they were his eyes. The realization sent Raien’s mind awhirl, and had his already numb muscles feeling weightless. Fearing that he would once again faint from the shock, Raien quickly moved over to the side. Before painfully scurrying away from the smell of death and decay, trying desperately not to give in to his weakening stomach. But he only managed to gain a few feet on the sight of the killings, hardly enough to distance himself from the stench or the buzzing of the flies, before his shocked and trembling limbs gave way, sending him tumbling over a half-buried root and crashing over onto his tired and injured back, grimacing, and now laying on the already stinging wounds, not daring to move for fear of vomiting, he pondered not only the pain but what had happened before the darkness had claimed him, what had caused his discomfort in the first place, both physical and emotional. “By the gods what had happened?”

Truly he had trouble grasping and understanding exactly what he had done, much less confronting it. One minute he had been trying to talk a bandit out of robbing him, and then he was trying to kill him, before having a brief and short-lived moment of clarity. Raien ran his hands over his sweat drenched face, holding the cut covered paws over his eyes for a moment, before dropping them hopelessly to his sides, if only they could block out everything else, as well as they shunned the light, if only they could block out reality. Regardless of the precursors, the end result was the same, and deep down he knew it too. He had in his “selfish” rush for survival killed not only one man, but his daughter as well. And while his sensibilities told him the latter was only a terrible mistake, and the former was justified. His heart, his very soul told him something entirely different.

But this painful line of thinking led to yet another still. What would his traveling companions think of all this, would they see it as justifiable, or would they condemn him? He shook his head, what little law there was, what little laws the various cities upheld, they all allowed for self-defense, this although barely, could be grouped under that same all-consuming claim. Still, what would his brother think? "His damn brother". Thinking on it, truly if he hadn’t started the fight earlier that day, none of this would have ever happened; he would have never been on this wretched trail at all.

He’d be been sitting by the camp fire, warming his hands and listening as the caravan guards told one of their “adventure” stories, tales of the foreign snake people and other unreliably unbelievable oddities, he’d be trying to act uninterested, but in all reality he’d be hanging on every word. Sitting beside him, on one of the logs they’d dragged out of the surrounding woods earlier that day, his brother would be toying around with some little thing or another, shaping pieces of wood, stone, or perhaps both into little crude soldiers and swords, his Isurian arm seemingly acting on it’s own accord as he looked at the storyteller, a happy enough expression spread across his otherwise stern features. But he had, and he wasn’t. And honestly, who was he fooling? They had gotten in a fight over whether or not, they should break off from the caravan at the next city. He hadn’t wanted to; he wasn’t ready for his adventure to be over. And his “older” brother, against his better judgment no doubt, was quick to point out the selfish, dangerous, and childlike nature of wanting to prolong any trek into the wilderness, even with other people there by your side. Apparently, as far as he was concerned anything that didn’t involve holding a good steady job was childlike. His thirst for adventure included, seeing it instead, twisting it, until he could view it as some kind of death wish. But still, he could have stopped the fight at any time, he didn't have to let it escalate, and he certainly didn't have to go storming off into the woods.

And just look where it had gotten him. A place not so easily escaped, he knew that his mind would bring up images of this day for years to come. He was sure he could simply get up and leave the two bodies behind; out here in the wilderness they’d be gone before the month ran out. Picked apart by scavengers and the other hungry denizens of the forest. The thought sent an uncomfortable shiver down his spine, stifling the puncture marks located in and around the bone. There was no honor in that; there was none in any of this. But leaving those two out in the forest, their bodies left to rot and be shredded by the elements? That would be hardly better than defiling a grave, and would edge all that he had done dangerously close to the being no better than murder.

He had to bury them, to that he had no doubt, but there was no shovel in sight. For a moment he entertained the laughable image of him removing handful after handful of rock-filled soil, cupped mud-covered hands moving tiredly and relentlessly, still no smile showed itself on his face or in his thoughts. There was probably one back at camp; it was a fifteen minute walk at least though, twenty most likely, he could hardly move fast, not with these wounds. Thinking of the seemingly deep and obviously painful cuts had an uneasiness washing over him in no time at all. Raien reached back, quickly moving his sore and mostly numb hands around the middle of his back, the blows had landed just under his heart he realized, yet another shiver ripping through him, at the onset of the realization, the familiar ache right along with it. But she didn’t stab any higher, and he’d didn’t feel anything wet, mostly just sensitive lumps and crusted skin. The blood was mostly dry then, less chance of him passing out again, so that was good. And with even more luck, the apparently shallow holes left by the knife were beginning to scab over; the little girl hadn’t put much power behind her thrusts. Still, thinking of the girl brought a pained look to his face, and he almost found himself wishing she had stabbed a little higher.

Still, pushing aside those thoughts, too painful and far too confusing to face, and turning back to the task at hand, further inspection confirmed that what scabs there were, were dangerously thin in far too many places. "So he wasn't that lucky after all" he thought. He’d have to bandage everything up, another twenty to thirty minutes gone, twenty minutes he knew he couldn’t afford. The sun was already beginning to duck out of sight as is, and if the sounds that surrounded the caravan at night were any indication of what came out with the stars, part of him wasn't too sure he wanted to be under their deceivingly gentle light at all.

Still, he had to do this, and maybe it’d be best if whatever made those sounds did find him, let the gods decide whether or not he deserved to be punished, let the gods decide if he would live to look back on this day as a distant memory, hopefully very distant indeed… Sitting up, and pushing himself up with a groan and familiar grimace, the damaged form that was Raien set off ,towards what he knew to be the general direction of the camp, a single drop of moisture dropping by his boot.

[Raien Ironarm Pitrius]

49th of Summer, 5 0 9 AV

A battered form stepped from the shade, given off by the dark mountain furs dotting the scene, a long slender object in hand. The sun was long since gone, ducked behind the surrounding hills and valleys, the shining pregnant moon was now asserting its temporary dominion over the sky. "Calling to all the things that shun the sun." Raien thought. "Telling them it’s their time to roam the land, and that there’s a stranger in the forest."

Still, looking back to the shovel in his scabbed over and bandaged hand, Raien put those thoughts aside.

His brother had of course, tried to get him to rest when he had finally lumbered back into camp. Only after Raien told him what had happened did the other man withdraw, clearly not knowing what to say. He didn’t wait for him to figure it out though, and simply kept walking, he was touched by the concern, any anger left over from earlier seeming petty and worth little in the wake of all that had happened. Instead replaced by a whirlwind of countless emotion. Anger, albeit in a different form and directed at himself, rather than anyone else among them. And with those emotions came a determination, spurred on by hopelessness. And a need to try and right the wrongs he committed.

He would not be swayed in his judgment, more because he didn’t know what he was going to do next; he didn’t know how he was going to do face the newfound demons already rising within him, than for any other reason. He could only hope that laying to rest the two, now cold bodies would give him some reprieve from the guilt.

And now once again taking another step, goal in mind, the moon lighting up his face, and ruining his night-vision, he stepped into the small clearing, and finally broke ground. Sending the iron shovel headfirst into the soil, more gravel and stone than dirt meeting it’s dive, sending a resounding ring, easily meeting the ears of anyone or anything in the small cluster of trees, or lurking around the dark corners.

Raien already on edge, froze in place, looking around the deftly silent trees scrutinizing the shadows nervously. Wondering if he really should have waited till morning, worried for a moment that the gods really were going to take him up on his offer.

Come on, you’re being ridiculous, you’re already out here, you’re already doing it, so just finish it, and be away from this dreadful place. He thought shaking his head, before lifting the shovel up once more, straining under the constricting, uncomfortable bandages, realizing that they definitely weren’t going to make any of this the least bit easier, before quickly lifting and throwing aside another shovelful of dirt. He had to dig two graves, taking time to glare at every elongated shadow, and whine to himself about tight cloth might get him through the night, but only because he’d still be digging when the sun finally came back up. He had to put it all aside, and once again he thought, half-hearted determination welling up within him I just have to do it.

He was already halfway through with the second grave, which was already proving to be substantially easier to dig than the first, due to its small nature. When he first noticed something was amiss. He heard it before he saw it, and then he smelt it. A wretched scent akin to dry mold and baked flesh, soaked by the dew of night. The smell surrounded him, covering the small glade of trees, nothing escaping its foul taint. All the while, Raien struggled to pinpoint the source of the smell. The sound of wood cracking, “twigs” was the first word to shoot through his mind. “Something’s walking around out there.” the exhausted battle-mage realized.

Looking around, more than worried, fear now fully unbridled. Raien glanced around, panic materializing in his eyes. Almost on their own accord, Raien’s shacking hands pulled, obviously rushing, at the cloth layering his cut hands. Tossing the blood sprinkled rags to the ground. Loosing to the open air the smell of blood which seemed to summon, to his shock, a menacing growl from the cluster of trees directly in front of him. “Shyke, I can’t handle this. What the petch did I do to deserve this?” The thought had Raien quickly glancing towards the two dark figures a few feet away. “Damn” Was the only thought accompanying the wide-eyed look spreading across his face, as the sound of steel scraping wood called out from his waist. “Well” he called out, straining to siphon the fear from his voice. “Do what they sent you to do!” his voice faltered before he got even halfway through. But he wasn’t going to say it again, not that he could mind you. For, just as his left leg was moving into a forward stance position, newly drawn bastard sword maneuvering to point towards the increasingly loud snarls, what seemed to be a heavy punch from behind sent him sprawling out ahead.

“What th-.“ Another shot of pain ripped through his leg even before he could free himself from his rapid descent, this one much greater than the love tap of moments before. “Ahh!” Screamed the pained swordsman, as much a battle-cry as a shout of sheer and utter discomfort, his Bastard Sword quickly followed the cry, crashing down with an eclectic but potent mixture of channeled anger, anguish, grief, and remorse. Right into the waiting neck of the scraggly, mangled, canine mess below him.

The same furry mess that had its sharp incisors clamped down, biting into the back of his leg, and even while he knew it was dead, he also knew that something else had knocked him aside earlier, something that’s eyes weren't losing their light, Raien almost winced at the sight of the dying wolf’s eyes, which even while animalistic, were far too familiar. Still, he knew it wouldn't trouble him for too much longer, he who was stricken and dilapidated with regret and grief, who was suffocating under the constricting pressure of the bandages, he who was drained from digging not one grave but two. He whom was injured, whose arms were even now numb from the influence of his rash Flux use, all those hours ago. He who knew that he had put everything he had into the last swing of his sword, He who knew he had nothing left for the next beast, already stalking him, already filling the grove with merciless growls and snorts.

[Raien Ironarm Pitrius]

49th of Summer, 5 0 9 AV
It was upon him before even he predicted. As the dark, menacing demon wrought itself from out of the darkness, hind legs supporting both its shockingly fast charge, and the jump that Raien couldn’t really discern from the run. He probably wouldn’t even had realized the beast had left the ground at all, it held such speed, had it’s snarling form not crashed down atop him moments later, sending the breath fleeing from his lungs, no doubt trying to find the escape he could not.

He knew it was useless, he had resigned himself to it, albeit it a fear-drenched resignation. But apparently futility aside, his hands and arms did not agree. Mere half ticks after the beast’s leap, before he had even fully drawn another breath, the numb extremities went flying, seemingly on their own accord, towards it’s snarling, saliva-covered, foul-smelling face.

Still, the reactionary, desperation drenched attack only elicited an angry snarl from the creature, it’s fur leaping up as it’s head bobbed forward, foul saliva and spit sent flying, finding hold on the Half-Isur’s face.

Failure aside, ignoring even the overwhelming fear bellowing up inside him. He knew he had done something, and the beast had reacted, it hadn’t just shrugged it off. “Maybe, just maybe, better I die by my own hand and kill it. Than just let myself be eaten.” Raien thought a solemn look on his face, fear still evident in his eyes but now more subtle, well as subtle as it could be while starring into the face of a demon itself.

It was foolhardy, it was idiotic, it risked both his body, his mind, and his life. And Raien made the decision to do it without a second thought. . He knew his punches only stifled this thing, he didn’t have the power of a full blooded Isur, nor the iron grip, and his arm even while tinted black was as mortal as arms could come. He needed power, he needed strength, and he knew where he could find it. His left hand flew up, smacking the beast repeatedly, unrelenting, as wild and random as they were merciless and unbridled. He didn’t really know what he was doing, but for one he was pissed at this thing, he was pissed at the whole situation, and he needed to stall, he couldn’t let his throat be torn asunder while he was trying to call up his already severely depleted Djed. Hell, he’d probably kill himself, but some part of him, the part that was all anger, anger at his father for abusing him mentally, anger at his brother for various reasons, anger at himself for failing to follow a straight path. It was that part that told him it was better to tear himself and this beast apart, than to simply resign himself to be consumed by the wolf. It was the part of himself that he hated, and it was keeping him alive.

The Djed was slow to heed his call, but slowly, one hit after another, for every slap, every backhand, it seemed a little more power was shaken and upturned into the next blow. And the next after that. Where before the wolf had simply smirked at him, hardly going as far as to muster a weak growl. Now it was hissing, the easily free-falling saliva resembling the poison spray of an angered and agitated snake. But it still wasn’t enough, his arm already feeling as if it were floating, was becoming lighter, number, and heavier all at the same time. It was becoming even harder to move, it was almost as if the insides of his muscles were being agitated by the flow. Swelling to block the streams of Djed. He was going to have to try something else.

Raising his left hand once more, and searching by touch alone for the hilt of his sword with the other, Raien prepared for his next move. He’d hit it between the eyes, where the forehead connected to the bones under the eyes. He needed to stun it, he had to stun it. And if all went well his blade would be finding hold in its wretched heart in mere moments.

And thus as his searching fingers found purchase on the leather wrap of his sword’s handle, he raised his left-hand fist to the ready, holding steady about the wolf’s head, he had to hit true this time, this shot couldn’t be erratic. He swung, fist finding purchase and sword beginning to swing.

But the wolf was not stunned. He had made contact with the back, off to the side of the spine no less, missing even the sensitive bone and hitting nothing but muscle. It’d leave a bruise no doubt but that’s about it, and the wolf was still moving. “I still have my sword, maybe I cou-“ For the second time that day his thoughts were cut short by a blow, replaced instead with the burning, agonizing tearing of flesh. His sword had escaped his grasp before it was even near to his planned position of attack; instead it fell, hitting the ground, even farther from his reach than last time.

The wolf was racking it’s claws against the flesh of his chest, cutting through his cloth shirt with ease, it was painful, it was agonizing, but it wasn’t lethal. And strangely, the small part of him not consumed with pain figured that the creature atop him meant it to be that way. It was savoring the kill, it didn’t need to kill him, as much as it pained him to think of it, there were two already dead, but still relatively fresh sources of meat nearby. The two hunters could have just run him off, and taken them instead, they could have gorged themselves. And risked nearly nothing in the process. Wolves weren't stupid, not even these oafs. They wouldn’t risk having themselves harmed, not like this, they would have used strategy… Unless, they were killing simply for the pleasure of it.

Even in this situation, probably because of the debilitating fatigue and adrenaline of the situation. Raien managed a small smirk. They hadn't expected him to put up any kind of fight. But as the wolf continued its shredding of his chest, the smile was wiped from his face. Time seemed to slow momentarily, his eyes drifted from the monstrous sight directly before him. Looking up and locking eyes with the dazzling moon and stars, awe struck, reveling in the midnight blues of the sky… The last beautiful thing he’d see. And then the tired man, the man about to be slaughtered by a vicious wolf mouthed two words. “I’m Sorry.”

He looked back, drifting mind called back by the absence of the pain he’d already grown accustomed to. There was no real tangible reprieve, for the fear was worse than even the racking pain of his flesh ripping and parting before the claws of the black wolf. It had lifted itself up slightly, well mostly just its head. Black and grey legs off to either side of his torso, as it opened wide it’s gaping maw. Raien closed his eyes, it was going in for the kill, it was going for his neck. He saw everything flash before his eyes, Sultros, The Wilds, The Caravan, Learning to Fight, all in no particular order, he wasn't ready for the bite. But he wasn't going to weep over it either, at least not if it came fast. But when no bite came at all, rather than cry, Raien wondered what was wrong, he could still feel the wolves warm legs off to his side, he could smell its fur, its breath. It wasn’t gone, but it wasn’t biting him either?

He opened his eyes to a bizarre sight, a transparent hand shot rapidly past his face. The hand was going straight for the wolves mouth! As the ethereal extremity rushed to meet its fate, Raien almost expected the transparent seemingly hollow hand to pass right through the face of the wolf. But it didn’t, instead it found a hold on of the teeth. Another identical hand followed swiftly after the first, this one instead found purchase on the wolf’s throat. The cold emanating was both appalling and unnerving, but also strangely intriguing. But even still, while the wolf obviously felt the cold as well, and much more personally. The hand proved to hold no great strength; the wolf was snapping and pushing it aside mere moments after it had its first hold. But it gave him time, and for that he was grateful. He had another chance, and he had to hurry.

Not daring to take his gaze from the struggling stranger and the murderous lupine monster. Raien grabbed frantically for his blade, still his nicked curling fingers found nothing but gravel and dirt. A tick past, and he heard what he assumed to be the stranger above him strain with a whisking voice. “Theeeu Ssssword!” The voice unnerved him, and seemed oddly familiar, but also new and distant. Still, it seemed to be trying to help him? And thus, trusting it whatever or whoever was watching over him that, and also perhaps his judgment was a little clouded due to the current situation, he replied quickly, and wordily, perhaps a little bit of a bite seeping into his voice. “I can’t, it fell too far away.”

The ethereal stranger grunted, but never got the chance to say whatever he was about to mouth. Attention seemingly drifting, as Raien felt unseen hands wrapping around his own, before releasing something cylindrical, he felt them release the handle of his blade! However, the thrill of once again holding his longtime companion and being able to defend himself aside, Raien found himself startled as the Stranger’s voice quickly changed as he turned his attention from the wolf, instead facing the direction of where Raien's sword had been redelivered to him from. Almost immediately following his turn, the “man” nearly screamed aloud, “You’re not supposed to be over here! Be away.” And apparently not satisfied by however the other “person”, right outside of Raien’s limited view reacted, the seemingly angry man added flustered, and perhaps a little hesitant. “I said be away!” The last bit, while oddly distant sounding, still carried the distinctly human emotion of worry and compassion. Still, these feelinga were obviously not towards Raien, as the Stranger so quick to save him from the wolf, released it just as quickly to turn to the other unknown visitor, and stunned as it was, the wolf would no doubt be upon him again soon. The man’s failure to hold it, would have meant his doom…. If he didn’t have his sword once more, and as the wolf leaped, Raien raised the blade. Skewering and felling the beast all in one motion, as it slid down the steel body.

And as the beast finally fell, landing right upon the young Half-Isur, Raien found he wanted nothing less than to rest. Wolf lying on top of him or not. But, before he had even closed his eyes he realized why he wasn’t, because of whom, he wasn’t closing them permanently. And grudgingly, albeit anxiously pushed the wolf off of him, in his rush to stand, leaving his bloodied blade within its stomach as it slumped off him and over to his side.
Pushing up, every muscle aflame, bones bruised, leg aching, and chest bleeding. Raien reached his full height of 5’6, albeit perhaps a little stooped over as he pressed his his hand on to his stomach, institutionally putting pressure upon the long cuts down his torso, wounds that would definitely scar noticeably.

Ignoring the racking pain shocking his entire body. Raien looked up and around, searching, looking over to his right, just in time to see two ghostly forms departing, hand in hand into the forest, man and child walked away from him before slowly fading into the air. Everything that could possibly hold them here resolved, unbeknownst to Raien, they were departing to face Lhex.

The shocked battle-mage simply allowed himself to sink slowly to his knees before falling back to rest upon his hands as he sat beside the wolf’s warm carcass. A look of pure unbridled look of bewilderment on his face.

[Raien Ironarm Pitrius]

49th of Summer, 5 0 9 AV
It had been nearly ten minutes since the two spirits had passed, and Raien was only now beginning to somewhat comprehend everything that had happened. It was something beyond the physical, and he had thanked his gods time and time again, in the relatively short period of time.

Still, he knew he could ponder the gods in the safety and warmth of the camp. This place had already proved itself to be more than a little dangerous. He was beginning to retain his composure now, even if a shaky and weak feeling did still lingered across his battered body, that aside, he could start moving. First things first though, he needed his sword, he had no desire to be separated from it… For a long, long time.

Approaching the carcass Raien curled his left hand around the blades hilt, relishing in the feeling of the comfortable leather. Preparing a grimace for the friction to come, he placed his right boot firmly in front of himself, and put the corresponding hand against the throat, the very, very cold throat…. “Interesting.” Raien thought as he pushed with his feet against dirt and hand against the almost supernaturally cold fur. Then as he pulled with his left hand, the blade quickly came forth, the act eliciting a grunt from him as the leather handle slid itself across the cuts on his palms.

Then he moved to his next point of business before departing. Once again he felt cold fur and narrowed his weary eyes, before moving his hand up along the suddenly warm neck and head. “I wonder” Raien said aloud as he crossed over to the snout, before moving his head closer to examine the corpse and lifting up the long lip-like flaps. Touching the right incisor he felt exactly what he thought he might, where the stranger had touched the tooth, it was possessed of a lingering cold. “What harm could a souvenir do, I definitely don't want to remember all this.” Raien thought, reaching for his blade, lifting it, and lining it up with the tooth “Carefully” he reminded himself as he slid the gum up slowly. He had most of the gum removed in a few minutes, still, it was rather difficult to maneuver the big blade in so delicate a fashion, in fact he was pretty sure he had scratched a couple of surrounding teeth. And thus he dropped his burly blade to the side, reaching into his fanny pack instead, moving his hand around for a moment, shuffling through the sparse contents, before removing a much smaller eating knife.

And with this new smaller blade, he quickly made surprising progress, cutting the gum and surrounding flesh quickly but carefully, until the tooth was hanging by one small pink root, surprisingly unscathed and undamaged. And with one last cut, the impressive incisor was dislodged from its former home. Holding it up to the light, Raien admired it, indeed if he had it mounted on some kind of necklace, perhaps even just stringing a leather cord through it, it’d be quite a piece. He brought the tooth and his hand down, and pressed it against his chest, around where it would hang if it were strung on a cord. Indeed, he did believe he would make something of it. Still, future plans aside, with the canine being so close to his head, he couldn’t help but notice that it had a slight odor to it. Dreadfully reminiscent of the demon dog that it came from’s breath. Hmm, he’d have to wash it and hope for the best. Admiring his new trophy once more, before sinking it into the fanny pack on his waist, he tossed aside the eating knife he’d used during the removal process. Raien shot a glance to the wolf carcass; he wasn’t going to eat with anything that was covered in that thing’s spit.

Bending over, and retrieving his sword, sliding it into his scabbard hastily. Before arising once more, and finally beginning to move upon two legs again, one leg in front of another.

Before long, Raien became nearly lost in thought, reflecting on the events of the night, and the newfound pain in his leg. He was so preoccupied by his own musings, that he nearly walked right into the smaller of the two graves, still uncovered, still unfilled. “Damn, how did I let the graves slip my mind.” Raien thought, chopping it up to be the stress and blood loss, as he retrieved the old shovel from off to the side. “This might be a longer night yet.” Raien thought.

He was in worse shape than when he’d first started, still he was almost done, and he felt strangely safer now that the wolves were dealt with, then again there could always be more. “Gods be damned if this leg’s going slow me down.” Was Raien’s last thought before beginning the work anew.

[Brandon Blackwing]

XP Award! Name: Raien Ironarm Pitrius XP Award: Flux +2 Bastard sword +4 observation+4 Planning +2 Unarmed Combat +1 Knife +1 Lore: Bloodlust Induced Through Battle Instinctual Killing The consequences of Killing Act of Honor: Burying the Dead Attacked by wolves! The Flux: Overgiving Accepting Death Being Saved by Ghosts Bastard Sword: not suited for delicate tasks misc: Lacerations on torso, arms, palms (when tended the ones inflicted by sword will take about 20-30 days to heal, depending on the depth of the cut. They will scar though. The scratches from the wolf’s claws will take less time.) Wound on side of head Bite mark on leg (since that’s probably a pretty deep wound, I guess it may take even more time than the lacerations… I’d say 50days, seeing as round wounds heal not as fast as cuts.) A Wolf’s Incisor (Souvenir) Notes: Wow, Raien, I am impressed! This thread had so much tension and emotion in it and was very well-written. At times I was wondering what exactly you were trying to describe, but wow, amazing thread. I was hooked! About the wounds, I am no specialist and what I have written regarding healing time is a bit guesswork of my part. Rather than an exact timeframe, I’d say they are guidelines. So, the healing time is not absolute. Please remove or edit your request in the request thread. Questions, concerns or comments regarding your grade? Send me a PM.