Completed A Chance Encounter (Belugnir)

[Zavya]

72nd Day of Fall, 518 AV, 23rd Bell

“Zavya.”

Her master’s voice broke through the Kelvic’s reverie, searing golden eyes glancing back toward the Valdinox man. She sighed, turning away from the surrounding wood. “What?”

“I know that look on your face,” was Ryker’s rumble of a reply, stepping forward to run his hand through her dark, tangled hair. Gentle at first, his grip turned harsh as he pulled her chin to face him. “You’re not to run off, you hear? I’ll find you, you know I will.”

“I’m not going to run off.” Zavya’s raspy voice was wooden, her stare flat. She’d made that mistake on a trip once before, and old scars still throbbed on her ribs from the experience. “Where would I even go? You know these woods better than I ever could.”

“Like that would stop you.” The hand holding her chin yanked her face upward, Ryker glaring down into her eyes. “I mean it, Zavya. If I learn you’ve taken one step outside of the camp’s perimeter, what happened last time will seem like child’s play.”

If he expected her to quiver or beg, he’d be sorely disappointed. “I told you I won’t run off,” was all she said, flatly repeating her words from before. The tigress wrenched her head from his grasp, taking a step back. “When’s the last time I even tried to run away? Have a little faith once in a while.”

Ryker snorted, raising his brow as he grasped the front of her shirt. He pulled her in close, the movement abrupt and much harder than necessary. “The last time you tried or the last time I caught you?” he whispered in her ear, lips brushing her lobe with the motion of his words. It was almost a sort of game between the two, her running away—one which seemed equally enjoyed on both sides, albeit for different reasons. “I have exactly as much faith in you as you deserve, Zavya. Don’t play dumb with me.”

Zavya ground her teeth hard enough that her jaw began to ache, a lip curling at his words to reveal a much longer than normal canine. She shuddered in disgust. “I wouldn’t think of it,” she spat, the hatred in her voice palpable. She turned her head to meet his gaze, molten eyes burning. “Now let go of me.”

“Careful what you wish for,” Ryker replied with a casual cuff across her face, abruptly pushing her away with enough force to make her stumble. He looked on with satisfaction, a cruel glint in his flame-lit eye and an arch smile on his lips. “I’m going to sleep. Keep guard and make sure the fire doesn’t go out.”

The tigress reached up to wipe a smudge of blood from her mouth, licking her lips with a barbed tongue as she rubbed at her jaw. She started to answer with a scathing reply, then thought better of it and closed her mouth. Her response instead was a single nod, her eyes never leaving his until he turned around and entered the tent. As soon as he was out of sight, she offered the canvas flap an obscene gesture of her hand before turning away.

The same hand reached for her bare throat, grateful for the absence of her ever-present collar. Ryker didn’t require her to wear it on their hunting excursions, knowing she was far better off in the wildlands as a tiger than a human. That was the form she meant to assume for the night, long fingers reaching to undo the ties of her clothing. Quickly, she divested herself of shirt, pants, and boots alike, taking a deep breath of the forest air as the breeze playfully caressed her bare skin. A rare smile pulled at her lips as she tipped forward onto all fours. The next second, a large golden tiger stood where Zavya had knelt, massive maw opening on a yawn.

The enormous feline closed her eyes and took another deep breath, letting the more complex scents fill her nose. Her own scent tended to keep most of the other animals away, and it was for that reason that she kept guard in this form. And those that did dare to approach… they often didn’t last long between her jaws.

Giant paws moved near silently over the earth as Zavya walked out into the surrounding wood, sinuous muscle rippling under her striped fur. Golden eyes peered out into the darkness, ears flicking back and forth to detect any nearby motion. Overall, the forest was quiet, almost unnaturally so. The animals knew a predator roamed among the trees this night.

[Belugnir]

Two cockin snares...

The sound of metal striking metal in rapid, albeit half hearted succession echoed faintly through the woods. Ein was seated by his campfire, beating the butt of a hatchet's head into one of his vambraces, trying as he may to hammer the bent piece of armor back into some usable shape. Three feet away from where he'd seated himself two sloppily skinned hares were stood roasting over his campfire.

I mean I know I've not made anything past rope snatches with rabbit dropplings... but petch sake I spresd twelve of 'em about the wood.

He looked up at the heavens.

"If you twats are so keen on keepin me alive that you'd hurl magic rocks from above, how about tossin me a lump of mest, eh?", he scoffed up the mockery of a prayer, eyes lingering upward for a time before settling down on the piece of metal he'd been fixing.
Naturally, the starry night sky remained indifferent to his cynicism.

"Figured as much.", Ein snorted, chucking the damaged piece of armor to the side. I suppose I'll just have to buy a new one in the end, petch all.

He'd stuck the hatchet to hang by its dull hook upon his belt, took up the poleaxe rested next to him and gave Finnard, his hauling pony, bound nearby a playfully wicked grin.

"Maybe if I come back empty handed again I'll slice off a chunk from your careless ass, eh?"

At this Fin gave a heavenly indifferent snort and continued munching on a patch of autumn grass.

"Yeah you just keep stuffing your gut. Lazy bugger.", Ein remarked with a bored sigh.

Having just recently gutted and skinned his hares, Ein figured he'd have the time to go check at least a couple more of his traps before they were done.

"Take care of the camp for a bit, eh Fin?"

The horse seemed to ignore him yet again.

As always, when making a night stop in traversing the wilds, Ein had taken the extra effort to find a broad clearing and dot it with at least three smaller fires dotting the space aroun his main camp fire, as a sort of additional ward against creatures that might be on prowl in the night. Picking up a finely burning branch of deadwood by its still uncharred side, Ein leaned the poleaxe over his shoulder with the other hand and began the chime lomg stride off to one of his rabbit snares.

Regrettably he had to stop for camp less than half a day away
from the southern lakeshore... For he was tired and hungry, and imagined Fin was equally so. Yet wat truly bothered him was the fact that he'd had to make the journey without being able to arrange for a new suit of armor beforehand. The absence of decent steel and strapped, flexible leather hugging his body
to hold blade and fng and claw at bay made him feel on edge... Otherwise he may have not even noticed that past the rustling of the shrubbery he'd passed through and the quietly crackling branch in his hand... the forest was rather silent.

Silent as the first time he'd met the fiend whose black fur and razor claws now hung about his hip and shoulders, fashioned into a menacing coat.

Somewhat alerted by the silence, Ein would bend his back lightly and keep a firm step, attempting to make as little noise as he could while on the move, deciding he would settle for checking only a single snare, and trying to keep his ears focused should a sneer or cry come to him from the campsite where he'd left Finnard, ready at a moments notice to bolt back should the horse alert him of ought that had barged into the camp.

Had they been without interruption, Ein's couple of chimes spent checking his one empty snare would end up feeling a a lengthy and fruitless errand. Fruitless yet were his attempts to take note of any creature that might have stalked him from further than a moderate distance. Should cause for concern greater than the silence of crickets not have arisen or remained hidden from him long enough, he would inevitably doze off to a shallow slumber, seated up, poleaxe kept in both hands... and belly still idly growling, unsatisfied by the two skinny rabbits that had barely served to satisfy it.


WC: 737

[Zavya]

The tigress prowled the woods on paws the size of dinner plates, every sense vigilant for other signs of life. A few times, she made out the rustle of a rat seeking cover or a bat flying overhead, but other than that, the woods were silent. The animals of Sylira’s wilderness might have no reason to recognize the scent of a tiger, but instincts were strong among those who would be hunted. They knew the smell of a predator.

Closing her eyes and lifting her nose to the air, Zavya sorted out the multitude of scents that reached it—trees, earth, animal dung, decaying leaves, and there, a different spoor… Nostrils flared, she opened her eyes. Human. And it wasn’t Ryker.

Crouched lower to the ground, Zavya crept through the wood, keen golden eyes on alert for the signs of another encampment. She was getting closer, she could smell it, but why someone else would be out here was beyond her. Another hunter, perhaps? In all of the hunting excursions she’d accompanied her master on, they’d never come across another person. To find one now was… unexpected.

The Kelvic looked back over her shoulder as she continued her silent way through the forest, pondering whether she should go further. By then, she was technically outside the perimeter of Ryker’s camp, but would he really protest her leaving to make sure the other human did not disturb him? There was no telling with that man. He’d either punish her for disobeying his orders or commend her for her proactive thinking. That was the option she was leaning toward.

Decision made, her step became more purposeful, honing in on her target. The human was moving now, but not very fast. She was sure she could intercept it, sight unseen. A few more steps brought her within view of her prey, molten gaze locking on a wild-haired man leaning down toward the forest floor. It seemed he was checking something—an obstacle on the ground, or even a snare perhaps? Zavya made a note to keep cautious; if there were traps, she had no wish to be caught in one.

Being sure to hang far enough back that he wouldn’t see her, she carefully stalked her quarry as he walked back to his camp, the scent of man, horse, and cooked meat permeating the air. She still kept her distance, crouched low among the leaf cover as she inspected the human’s camp. The tigress salivated upon gazing at the horse, tail twitching hungrily behind her. When was the last time she’d had horsemeat? Surely just a little bite couldn’t hurt…

Zavya snuck in closer, belly nearly dragging the ground as she stalked around the edge of the camp. Hoping to catch the human unawares, her plan was turned on its head by a sudden terrified whinny from the horse she’d hoped to make her dinner. Shyke. The creature’s eyes were rolling back in its head, rearing and pawing at the air. There was no way the snoozing man would stay asleep through all that.

Cover blown, the tigress let loose a snarl, muscles bunched as she leapt into the camp with a single, powerful motion. If she couldn’t rely on stealth, she might as well go for intimidation. Her paws hit the dirt with a shuddering impact, the growl thundering from her chest vibrating through the earth around her. Zavya’s head whipped back and forth between the horse and the man, teeth bared as she silently challenged either one of them to approach. The grazer did not seem so inclined, so the Kelvic turned her attention toward the man instead.

Another growl vibrated through the ground as she advanced on her target, her movements exaggeratedly slow as her muscles coiled—ready to pounce. Those far-too-intelligent golden eyes bore down on his, tail twitching in a threat behind her. The massive feline moved ever closer, licking her lips and baring her teeth in a gesture that seemed almost a grin. Come on, she dared him with a snarl. What are you going to do?

[Belugnir]

Fin's frightened whine had Einar out of his frail slumber and on his feet before the poor horse had even settled its own fore limbs onto the ground again.

Ein's startled stare at his pony was quickly averted as the cause of Fin's unrest opted to announce itself. The poleaxe never left his hands even as he'd slept, and now he stood up in a low stance, both hands gripping the weapon close to his body and leveling its tip at the assailant.

There was only a moment of shock as Ein took in the image of his predator... and then opal and copper stared back at fiery amber with cold indifference. Ein had never seen nor heard of a tiger in his life, and a season ago the sight of this creature would likely have frightened him... Yet now, well the thing lacked at least another pair of eyes and limbs to seem frightening.

"I've killed worse than you, striped twat.", he jerked his poleaxe forward as a reply to the beast's snarls, not by frightened reflex, but to dare it back. The wolf fiend's preserved limbs that decorated his black mantle swayed about him morbidly, making the man appear as if he had three monstrous arms on top of the two that gripped his weapon.

Carefully would Ein retreat a single step at every ounce of ground the tiger made forth, placing himself between the feeline and his panicked horse, who would have bolted by now had it not been tied down. This creature seemed fierce... focused and unafraid as it leaped into the camp. And the sight of its own low stance gave Ein a good idea of what it would attempt to do. So he stanced himself lower yet, readying to either present the tip or the horizontal shaft of his poleaxe and recieve the creature's leap by either impaling it or opening up to halt it on its hind legs and hurl it off balance and onto the ground should it pounce for him. With a sharp breath he poured djed ino his lower body, readying to dig his heels in for the sake of not being overpowered should he have underestimated the thing's weight. Yet his focus of attention never left the overgrown feeline, ready to react to any sudden agression should it come... And he did not appreciate the tiger's menacing stalling either.

"You better not have woken me up just to chicken around.", the low hiss in his voice was a different sort of growl, one seething with disdain, yet never dispersing the man's calm and expecting posture. The marrings of his face, and the scars of rapture upon his neck, should the beast notice them, would be witnesses to how little he feared being in harm's way.

Ultimately, had the beast not made the first move, Ein would seek to provoke it with a swift, decided kick through the side of his campfire, scattering embers and burning twigs toward the feeline, and quickly stomping his foo back into stance, attempting to feign an approach and lure the creature into believing he had lost his patience.

WC: 524

[Zavya]

The man’s reaction was not what Zavya had been expecting; most sane humans ran in fear at the sight of such a large beast uncaged, but not this one, it seemed. The pelt of a large animal—a wolf perhaps, or a coyote, something that appeared canine—rested about his shoulders, and a multitude of scars marred the flesh of his face and neck. It seemed the tigress had not chosen her target very well. He was prepared to fight back, a fact she had not been counting on.

Golden eyes raced around the camp as she pondered her next move, debating whether to retreat or attack. That large weapon in his hands gave her pause, as did the nearby fire. If he knew what he was doing, he could cause serious damage. And this man… he seemed like he knew what he was doing. Petch it all, I’m no coward, she thought with a growl, advancing further on her opponent. She’d made her choice, and she would see it through, one way or another. Besides, even if she died… at least she’d gone out fighting, instead of at the hands of a deranged sadist.

Rather than continue straight on, however, she began to circle him, aiming to keep him moving. She spared a brief glance for the terrified horse and noted his tether with relief. Should the beast be so inclined to attack, he would not be able to; at the minimum, she was safe from flying hooves. Unfortunately, her momentary distraction served as an opening for her opponent, Zavya turning back around to burning twigs flung in her face.

Her snarl of pain echoed through the surrounding wood, shaking the searing embers from her fur. A fierce, predatory glare trained on the man who’d singed her, unsheathing her claws. Zavya made a large swipe of her front paw in the human’s direction, aiming to knock him off balance and maybe add a few more scars to his collection. She was wary of the ax in his hands, knowing that weapon presented her greatest danger. The metal could easily tear through skin, muscle, and sinew alike. Her best bet lay in disarming him if she wished to come out of this encounter unscathed.

Zavya was counting on the human assuming she was nothing more than a mere animal, one who would not have enough foresight to focus on the weapon rather than the man. Hoping to catch him off guard, her paw swiped again—this time aiming to knock the hilt of the poleaxe out of his hand. Even if she did not succeed, she fell for his intended ploy, another growl ripping from her throat as her muscles bunched. The next moment she was airborne, leaping powerfully toward the human with jaws agape. Even if she couldn’t kill, she hoped to stun. The Kelvic could only pray the payoff was worth the risk she took.

[Belugnir]

Something had been off with this creature. It hesitated a plenty... and frankly, from past experience, Ein half expected the thing to start speaking with one of its snarls transitioning into some cryptic nonsense spoken in common... When the beast finally succumbed to his provocation and swiped for him it almost came to him as a relief.

He managed to move his exposed calf out of the way, albeit it would end up digging into the clothes he wore, and the sheer force of the creature's heavy paw pulling on the leg of his trouser nearly pulled him off balance indeed. This he managed to counter by discharging an ounce of the djed gathered into his lower body and allow himself to perform another stomping motion with which he set both his feet firmly to the ground again, and just in time to pull back from the beast's next swipe, shoving the whiffing paw away and whacking it along its own momentum with the weighted butt of his poleaxe's handle, expecting that the blunt force would hinder the creature at least an ounce, though he hadn't yet been given a favorable enough opening to attack the thing himself, and thus ended up pulling his weapon back to renew his stance...

Then the creature pounced. Ein brought the handle of his axe upward, held horizontally. The man ducked his head down, for even as the creature's front paws would come to an obstacle on either end of the poleaxe's handle that would have held the thing up on its hind legs, Ein stil wished to limit the feeline's access to his own head as much as he could... His elbows bent and coiled back as he recieved the beast's pounce... Time seemed to come to a stand still... and then Ein couldn't help but grin as he felt his arms holding out under the weight hurled against them.

You're mine, whoreson.

His feet dug into the ground as he let the tiger's halted lunge force him into a crouch. Then he would drive his body upward, djed springing forth from his heels, through his straightening knees, hips, his chest and through his arms in one whiplash motion. Had he been faster and more resourceful he would have positioned himself to be able to hurl the creature to the side and through his campfire, yet as things were his strategy still proved plenty fruitful, for he managed to spring from his crouch and hurl nearly the entire force that the joints and muscles of his body could conjure, aided by Flux, at that, back against the creature's chest. Delivered as a shove from the handle already held up to halt the beast, it wouldn't really do much in the way of damage, but it would certainly serve to hurl it off of its hind legs and onto its back.

As the tiger fell backwards, Ein would look to continue his rising motion into a wide step forward, bringing his poleaxe down from an overhead swing, his right hand directing the attack, pressing down onto the weapon's shaft with a relaxed grip, allowing his left hand to pull on the far end of the handle and generate levrage, seeking to bring the hammer end of his weapon down onto the beast's upper body with as much force as his weapon would lend him. The bloody thing was massive. He wasn't going to waste time whacking it half heartedly after creating an opening like this, as it was likely the only one he was going to get. And should naught have stopped him from finishing his innitial swing, he would briefly pull back, just enough to level the weapon's pike end toward the creature, adjust his grip lower on the poleaxe's handle, and then lunge the entirety of his weight into a thrust aimed for the feeline's head.

WC: 644

[Zavya]

Another snarl ripped past Zavya’s lips as the hilt of the ax swung back against her paw, yanking it away before she geared up to pounce. As soon as she leapt, she was sure she had him—how many humans could hold up to the force of a full-grown tiger colliding with them head-on?

What she didn’t account for was this particular human’s magic, holding her at bay with the shaft of his weapon. The shock was recognizable even in an animal’s face, a keening cry escaping the tigress as she felt herself hurled backward away from her quarry. Her weight shook the ground as her back collided with the earth, her breath leaving her with the impact. When the man strode toward her, weapon in hand, she could read death in his face, and knew she’d lost the advantage long ago.

If she didn’t think fast, she was going to die. Zavya was certain of that now. Should have left him be, she mused as the weapon hovered over her head, heart pounding rapidly as her own demise hit her with such crystal clarity. He wouldn’t have even known we were here if I hadn’t stalked his camp. As the ax descended, the tigress did the only thing she could think of left to do. Normally an advantage, her size now would only get her killed. She would have to end this fight a different way.

A sudden flash of light burst through the camp and a nude young woman took the place of the massive feline. Her bronzed flesh was nearly as marred as her assailant’s, thick claw marks running down the flesh of her thigh and a multitude of ropelike scars encircling her ribs and crisscrossing her back. Golden eyes flared to meet her opponent’s before she rolled out of the way as quickly as she could. It was less than half a tick later when the momentum of the weapon’s movement buried it in the ground where her head had just lain.

Zavya released a shuddering sigh of relief, the arm he’d hit with his ax cradled to her breast. Her free hand raised in surrender, chest rising and falling rapidly with her intake of breath. The Kelvic’s body fair twitched with adrenaline, though she remained where she was; she didn’t want him to go on the offensive again. She did not mean to continue her attack.

“If you kill me, you’ll die too,” the tigress informed the man hovering over her body, her breathless tone matter-of-fact. Her voice was low and raspy, the shape of her teeth and tongue giving an unusual cadence to the way she spoke. “Not by my hand, which is fairly obvious now. But I am a favorite slave of the Valdinox. My master would not take kindly to my demise.” Whether Ryker would try to kill this man over her or not, she did not truly know, but she could well imagine his fury. Her master took particular delight in tormenting her in every way he could, but he was not one to extend that courtesy to others. It was his own twisted way of caring for her, she supposed. He could hurt her as much as he liked, but woe be unto another who tried to do the same. “Let me go now, and he might even reward you for it.” That was definitely not true, but he didn't need to know that. She'd say whatever she had to if she could get out of this alive.

[Belugnir]

The flare of light that went hand in hand with a kelvic's transformation did surprise... and greatly unnerve Einar. He'd put everything he could into the swing, and had a moment of blindness not caused him hesitation, and had he not already witnessed a kelvic's transformation after meeting Rook, he would have wasted not a breath in renewing the momentum of the weapon that thudded dully against the ground and driving it at the woman's head again.

Instead he was simply stood over her, expression betraying a mixture of disbelief and anger at the dispersed rush of the notion that he'd bested some wild beast. Then the girl began to speak, and Ein took an enormous amount of effort not to simply slap her to the side with his weapon so hard she'd be rolling over through the dirt for a good chime. He rotated the handle in his hands and the poleaxe's blade ended up resting just under the edge of the girl's jaw. The thing wasn't sharp enough to draw blood from idle pressure, but it was certainly sharp enough for him to slit her throat with one motion if she thought to get crafty again. And when he heard of favored slaves and masters called by last name, it took a heavy sigh of annoyance out of him, albeit internally he was laughing. 'course, it couldn't have been some hungry twit trying to gut him for a bite of food in the middle of the night, no, no, it had to be the property of some sodding noble, and one that turned into a man eating feline at that.

'Let me go now and he might even rew--'

''I don't give a rat's ass!'', he snapped at the girl, disdain seeping from his voice. ''Let you go?'', his head shook in disbelief. Did he look like a bloody imbecile to her? ''On your feet. Now.'', after how his Fall began and where it took him to at the time, Ein was beyond finished with the prospect of taking shyke from Ravok's nobles, especially from their sodding slaves. As the girl got up, whether by his intervention or her own complacence, Ein would hook the axeblade of his weapon around her neck and walk her over to near where Fin was stood, still alert, digging his hooves into the ground. ''And keep your mouth shut.'', Ein hissed at the girl, before hearing his pony give a protesting snort. ''That goes for you too, you blundering bastard.'', the stern stiffness with which the man moved and voiced things spoke right volumes of his readiness to outright snap the girl's neck at the first notion of hostility. Some mad bitch tries to claw my legs off and then mouths off to me... Heartily did Ein spit to the side at the notion.

It would be with a rather unceremonious shove at the back of her knees that he would force the girl down onto the ground, faced away from himself, pressing his one foot against her back and thus forcing her to keep her neck within the makeshift necklace that the hook of his weapon's axe head served as for the moment. At least until he finally rummaged a thick length of rope out of the saddlebags deposited by Finnard's side.

''You so much as move or flicker a speck of that shape shifting horse shyke and I'm putting a knife in the back of you.'', was the only redundant warning the girl would get before Ein tossed the rope over her head and began coiling it around her neck, a good four times. He would tighten the thing up without bothering to make it comfortable one bit, but paid enough of a mind to try and leave room for her to breathe, if with a hinder. He knew next to naught of the shape-shifting folk... save the obvious, the fact that those nordling cunts liked having one as a slave where they could afford it, and that leashes and collars were used to force them to remain in human shape.

Once Ein' had a leash on her and a length of rope connected to her neck firmly in his own hand, he finally loosened up enough of his frustrated tension to start murmuring as grumpy old men do, only louder and with far more vigor.

''So I'm to be all cheery and joyful and let myself be mauled by some fuckin' cat just because some Lark or Velindox or what have you whoreson gets a right stiffie out of having amber eyes look up at him while someone's choking down on his prick?'', finally, he'd dragged out a bundled blanket from one of the bags loaded onto Finnard, before practically hurling the thing, half unfurled, at the girl to cover herself with. The axe blade would leave the vicinity of her head, and the horse stood beside them would take off, distancing himself from the humanoid tigress as far as his own leash would let him.

''Your master wouldn't happen to have another half dozen of burly, muscly slaves on hand too? Should I bend over for them to petch me in the arse one after another before letting you chomp down on my neck?'', his cynical, spiteful sneers were well and properly deserved if she thought he'd just bloody let her go after the sort of introduction she came in with. ''Not cockin' likely.''
Ultimately, before he'd found a quiet place in his mind where he could observe things without being hurled around by hasty anger, Ein did succumb to the urge of shoving his foot into the girl's back to send her onto the ground... then he began to calm down, and another long, exasperated breath left him.

He looked down at the leash he held with disdain, before pointedly jerking it once. ''I'm not fond of this bondage bullshyke. But I'm not a cockin' dimwit, either.'', he made it a point to display that his other hand still held his weapon firmly, and that he was somberly on alert and ready to use it if given cause, yet the man seemed far calmer and less tempted to simply bash her head in, at least that's how things would stand if the girl remained cooperative. ''You start acting like some rabid hound, you get a rabid hound's courtesy.'', the warning came before a lingering quiet in which Einar struggled in vain to decide what the cockin' hell he was supposed to do at this point.

''What's your name and who's your petching master?'', ultimately came the question, as Ein went about rubbing his forehead with the back of the hand that held the girl's leash. He was calm now, but no less annoyed at this whole mess.


WC: 1130

[Zavya]

Zavya’s breath hissed between her teeth as the blade came to rest under her jaw, her lip lifting in a silent snarl as molten eyes held his own. There was no fear in the slave’s gaze, only fury and hatred—two emotions the Kelvic was very well familiar with. Did he think to scare her? He obviously didn’t know the daily terror she lived with, the broken glass she treaded over every waking moment. However despised, this sort of treatment was as normal to her as breathing, and she wasn’t about to quail before him.

However, neither was she foolish, and the axe blade against her neck seemed no idle threat. Instead of lashing out as she so desperately wanted, she kept silent beyond the low growl that rumbled in her chest when the stranger hauled her to her feet. Her growl was cut off by the axe hooked round her throat in a makeshift collar, glaring straight ahead as he marched her over to where his terrified horse pawed the ground.

The tigress bore her teeth at the petrified animal, his eyes rolling back in his skull. She had only a moment for her smirk of satisfaction before the bastard at her back practically knocked her legs out from under her. Her knees hit the dirt with a hiss of protest before her metal collar was replaced by a rope one—one just a little tighter than it really needed to be. Zavya drew in shallow breaths through her nose as he proceeded in his furious ramblings, her lip lifting again at his lewd comments on her master’s activities. He wasn’t wrong in the slightest, but hearing such sentiments so boldly spoken aloud didn’t exactly endear him to her.

She wrapped the blanket he hurled around herself before a foot in her back sent her sprawling across the ground. Her answering snarl this time was loud enough to set the nearby horse to rearing and pulling at his tether. Zavya’s face was full of resentment as she turned back to look at her captor, resettling the blanket around her scarred shoulders. He at least seemed to be calming down, but she was furious enough to rip his flesh to shreds. Never mind that she had gotten herself into this mess through her own foolhardy actions; when all was said and done, she’d make sure he paid for his treatment of her.

The yank on the rope made the Kelvic gag, her glare in the man’s direction only intensifying. When he brandished his weapon at her and threatened her yet again, the warm comfort of anger fizzled in her bones. For a moment, she had a vivid flash of her teeth locked around his throat, his life’s blood soaking her fur. She’d shake him like a rag doll until he pled for mercy, then snap his spine beneath her paws. Bastard. That long silence stretched between them, the tigress giving only a sharp nod of affirmation to show she understood. She would cooperate. For the most part.

“Zavya,” the girl gave her name through gritted teeth, staring daggers at the man on the other end of her leash. “My master’s name is Ryker Valdinox, and it won’t be but a few more bells before he notices I’m gone.” Her voice was dispassionate, almost calm as she warned the ugly vagik, “He will come looking, you know. He’s a hunter. He knows a thing or two about tracking.” She gave a harsh snort of laughter. “And when he finds us, he won’t be happy. I don’t think you want to meet that man when he’s unhappy.”

Another few ticks of silence went by, Zavya carefully examining the feral-looking man. He was even more animalistic looking than she was and exuded an air of wildness distinct from most humans she’d met. “So, what do you hope to gain from this, hm?” she finally asked, gesturing toward the coils of rope encircling her neck. “What good is taking me captive going to do? Fancy a Kelvic slave for yourself, perhaps? Getting your own ‘stiffie’ at the thought of my amber eyes?” Said eyes flashed in challenge as she threw his own words back at him. “Do you really think it wise to take Valdinox property for yourself? They do not take such slights very well. Are you really that eager to piss them off?”

She was genuinely curious at his motives for capturing her, wondering what it was he thought to get out of it. Did he think to demand a ransom? To sell her back to her master? Or was it as she’d said—did he plan to keep her for himself? She couldn’t help but laugh at the thought of Ryker paying for her return. He’d slit the man’s throat before he’d ever pay a single miza for his own slave.

“Your funeral, I guess,” she muttered with a shrug.

[Belugnir]

With the rush of defeating a new sort of beast well and truly passed, Ein went from frustrated to sleepily rolling his eyes and dismissively weaving his hand away, to finally finding irony and amusement in all the classic nordling drivel the girl kept spewing even as he'd only asked her name and a word about her master. At least she seemed to be good enough of a sport to try and turn his profanities at him. It got him to take a rather impolite couple of glances at the lass as she'd wrapped the blanket around her.

"See, even if I was so desperate for a shag, with how much you like to growl and grin daggers about, I wouldn't put it past your lower mouth to have a set of teeth just as sharp and eager to bite me prick off if it went anywhere near... Sort of puts a damper on things, regardless of how good a handful the tits and hips on ye would make for, for I prefer to keep my member a permanent part of mesself."

It was some hearty laughter coming out as Ein rubbed his shaking head into his hand.

"Hell, her twat would probably be growling and promisin' me disembowelment and murder too..."

He couldn't help but feel as if the glares he'd been given now were the same he treated his own slavers with some odd decade or so ago... Yet the prospect of possibly being as deranged as the men he left in shallow graves in these very woods simply didn't bother him at this point... He'd convinced himself of such, at the very least.

"And I'm sure all the masters in the world know a thing or two about tracking, specially when a dandy pretty slave lass goes missing...", at this point his sneers were hardly directed at the girl. "But I am also pretty damn sure it's a right bitch to track down ought when you've got your eyes poked out by a steel pike and your kneecaps turned to mush."

Frankly, after taking multiple bolts to the back, a knife to the hip deep enough to scratch at his spine, a sword to and through the gut, his own poleaxe in between the shoulder blades, having his chest exploded by sorcery, taking a bolt to the head and having said head torn off by the beast he now wore as a cloak... all within a week or so, and topping all of it off by the worst overgiving he'd ever had... Well, death threats from just about anyone simply seemed comical... Or it might have been because he still needed to piece his mind back together proper... Indeed, on the best of days he'd be incigned to slap the woman silly for giving him attitude after trying to outright maul him without provocation... Now it was all just ridicilous.

"Honestly, right now I'm just pondering splashing cold water on you to see if you'd get all uppity like a proper cat.", it was almost a childish chrotle with which he dismissed the girl's accusation of his motive.

Then came yet another long and apologetic sigh. "I don't hope to get shyke out of you, gal. Matter of fact I already got what I wanted, as you are presently not flailing about paws fit to tear the ass off the back of me in one swipe."

He began to walk around to the back of the girl, his guard mostly maintained even through the exhausted amusement he came to feel, and through the absolute bitch of an ache that came over his entire body from using flux at his own peak performance.

He'd begin fiddling with the ropes around her neck. Not to untie them, heavens no. Einar merely went about loosening the damn thing an ounce as he'd concluded that he was far from fond of hearing her almost wheezing for breath as she spoke... Not that he was too eager to give himself the lasting memory of talking to a girl who sat before him naked and with a rope tied about her neck with the other end in his hand to begin with, but he was certainly less eager to let her pop back into whatever that overgrown feline thing was... Not that he was any less ready to snap her head around enough for her to be able to get a good look at her own arse in her final moments should she attempt to bite at him or get all uppity.

"You're shyke at picking your fights, Zavya. And whoever your Ryker is, he must be a massive bastard if you keep up that cockin attitude...", his tone revealed a petty ounce of understanding. Really, the closest thing to compassion that a street urchin whoreson could muster.

Ein gave a brief glance to the treeline from where the girl first emerged, clothed in the visage of a murderous predator, then a briefer glance to his campfires which were just on the verge of going out.

"I don't know if this is news to you girl, but most folk with half a spine in their back don't take well 'to the slight' of having an overhrown cat try to murder them in the middle of the night... Why'd you even barge in here to begin with?"

At a moment's ponder, Ein figured the lass was either vainly suicidal as slaves could tend to be, or that he'd already offended this Valindox twat by some merit of being alive as it tended to be with those nordling princelings whenever they came across an outsider... or that she came in here in hopes of getting a bite out of either him or poor old Fin.


WC: 960