Completed A Chance Encounter (Belugnir)

[Zavya]

If only my ‘lower mouth’ did have a set of teeth, Zavya thought to herself longingly at his crude comments, her lip lifting in yet another snarl as his eyes probed rudely under the blanket. I’d have far fewer problems, were that the case. “Those teeth are as sharp as these,” she said aloud instead, gnashing her teeth and flashing him a view of her elongated canines. “Smart man, to stay away.” Her voice dripped with sarcasm, even as her eyes practically glowed with fury.

The tigress was silent as he continued in his rambling threats, ending it with the desire to splash water on her and see what she did. She cast him a sidelong glare before rolling her eyes. It wasn’t as if she was some house cat, terrified of the touch of moisture. In fact, she quite enjoyed swimming when she was able to, not that the opportunity often presented itself. She’d much rather be swimming than tied up in some ugly bastard’s camp, that was for sure.

Zavya visibly tensed as the man came nearer, flinching as he started to fiddle with the ropes. Briefly, she considered lashing out, proving how sharp her teeth were even as a human, but quickly discarded the notion. She was still at a heavy disadvantage, especially when she couldn’t shift, so she kept still. The tigress cursed herself for flinching before turning stoic again, but it took only a few ticks to realize he was loosening the ropes rather than tightening them. “Thank you,” she muttered begrudgingly as he stepped away, taking a few unencumbered breaths.

Golden eyes reflected by firelight took in her captor with new consideration, the arm he’d hit with his axe cradled in her lap. Her uninjured hand reached to scratch under the ropes, her gaze never leaving his. He talks big and definitely has the skills to back it up, she mused as he spoke. But even after I tried to kill him, here he is, making sure I can breathe. He’s not as cruel as he’d like to appear. She could work with that. Perhaps she’d be free by morning, after all.

“If you’re not hoping to gain anything, then why keep me here?” she asked reasonably, looking up at him with a face much gentler than before. All signs of aggression were dropped, the tigress trying to appear as unthreatening as she could. “You’ve already proved that you’re a better fighter, and I’m not stupid enough to make the same mistake again. Let me go, and I won’t even mention I was here. It will be like none of it ever happened, and we can both go on our merry way and forget the whole thing. Don’t you think that’s better than risking incurring the wrath of such a powerful family? Unless you plan to just keep me in the woods for the rest of my life, they will find out eventually…”

And whoever your Ryker is, he must be a massive bastard if you keep up that cockin’ attitude... The Kelvic snorted, the sound as amused as it was disparaging. There was even a hint of sympathy in his voice, something she wasn’t expecting. Maybe she really did stand a chance. “’Massive bastard’ is an understatement,” she muttered in response. “All this,” she gestured to the rope around her neck, the limp arm in her lap. “Child’s play in comparison. This kind of shyke is just foreplay to him.” With that, she went silent again, already having said more than she meant to. The Kelvic was always on alert for a trap, and she had no clue who this stranger was. Who was to say this wasn’t some elaborate ploy set up by Ryker himself?

At his next question, Zavya cleared her throat and looked toward the horse. “Well, I, uh… I smelled you, you see.” She glanced back toward her captor with a shrug. “I was guarding our camp, and I caught a human spoor. I stalked you while you were checking your snares, then followed you back here. I wasn’t actually going to do anything, so long as you stayed where you were. But then, I, uh…” She cleared her throat again and coughed. “I smelled your horse. I figured I could take him down and you would just run.” The look she gave him was almost offended when she added, “Most humans would run when they see a tiger. Obviously, you’re not most humans.”

The slave regarded him thoughtfully. “Why are you out here, anyway? Who are you? In all the hunting trips I’ve accompanied Ryker on, I’ve never seen another person. The wildlands are too dangerous for most.”

[Belugnir]

He hadn't rightly threatened half as much as he rambled... Though rambling is among many things men prone to overgiving are prone to. Annoying pain in the forearms after hurling off a massive beast was another... Ein had only slightly deviated his attention from the girl, idly kicking scattered deadwood back into a heap that used to be his central campfire. Zavya seemed awful talkative, and he'd heard out most of what she had to say and inquire in a stern silence, leaning his poleaxe over his shoulder, wrapping the end of her leash about his wrist a couple times, and lowering himself to try and set new light to the ruined campfire with some flint...


"Name's Einar... And I should think folk with rope about their neck and an iron spike at their throat are capable of plenty stupid things...", he grumbled eventually, through teeth gritting at the failure of embers thst aborted to set fire to half charred deadwood... Before finally hurling the flint away, sliding a glove off his right hand with no small amount of frustration and then bleeding forth a faint clump of what would appear as distorted mist, from scorched ritual incisions upon his palm. Beads of cold sweat began to grace his ruined forehead as he funneled djed through his arm and out of his palm... and then he willed a spark to it. Silver light graced the deadwood before bursting into amber, candlefire, and starting to bite away at the corpse of a campfire. Ein began putting on his leathern glove and rising to his feet again with no small amount of smug satisfaction visible on his face.

"And you're right, Zav, I am not like most humans. Most humans don't sit down on their arse by their lonesome five bells away from a city outpost...", he took in a long, exasperated breath, becoming well aware of how moody treading the thin line of overusing his djed had made him. "Most humans are smart."

Smart man, to stay away. She said... If only she could have seen him weeks ago, scuttling half blind and cocky as anything, skulking into the territory of a beast that could, by all right, have made a morsel of the both of them... Yet here it was now, hanging from his neck.

"I'm not the brightest bastard, girl. But I wasn't born yesterday either. You're trying to get awful friendly, awful sudden after you've been given a moment to catch your breath. I let you loose and the next thing I know, me innards are being clawed out... or you skulk off and come back with another five of your kind in tow...", he pulled on the rope of her leash rather suddenly and crudely to prevent her from flinching backwards, visibly annoyed, leveling the blade of his weapon down by her neck again. "And you seem awful eager to run back to your master and his 'foreplays'."

"If I were a 'smart man' I would kill, burn and bury you so that no army of blood hounds and princely slavers would ever find a trace of you...", and indeed, he seemed to consider doing so... before shaking his head, almost feverishly. Spittin', babbling and preaching image of that pale twat warlock, I'm becoming.

Ein spat to the side. Much as it annoyed him, he was shyke at reading other folk... and frankly, he had a hard time taking an ounce of what the girl said for granted... save for that at least one of her masters was likely an utter asswipe, with how whip-scarred she was.

The poleaxe left the side of the woman's neck again, Ein's grip on the woman's leash loosened and he near damn let go of it, rubbing his forehead into the palm of his hand.

"I suppose I am not so smart then, am I?"

[Zavya]

Zavya’s eyes never left this “Einar,” holding herself rigid as his motions at the campfire tugged at the rope connecting them. She watched with feigned disinterest as whatever he did with his hands lit the flames anew, carefully hiding the spark of fear behind her gaze. More magic, she thought nervously, subtly shifting away from him as far as the leash would allow. Unfortunately, it wasn’t very far.

Before she knew it, she found herself jerked forward, his blade set against her throat once again. If he wasn’t threatening her before, he certainly was then—his words freezing her blood. The tigress wouldn’t let him see her fear, however, those unblinking molten eyes staring back into his. Even if his magic made her heart quicken, even though he’d thoroughly proven his prowess over her… there was only one man that truly inspired her terror. And it wasn’t Einar.

That was the man she had to return to before Syna’s rays started to paint the sky. Eager to get back to her master? Hardly. But Zavya was even less eager to see what would happen if she didn’t. The first (and last) time she’d run off on a hunting excursion had taught her that lesson—the consequences had left her bedridden for a week. It was not an experience she was keen on repeating.

Have to find a way out of this, she thought as he spat to the side. If I can’t fight my way out, and I can’t talk my way out… Her opening seemed to come just as she had the thought, the blade of his poleaxe lowering from her throat. Einar’s grip on the leash loosened significantly, the end of the rope practically falling out of his hand. The hint of a smile played along the edges of her mouth. Here it was.

“I suppose you’re not.”

A single sharp tug pulled the rope back to her, offering him a wicked grin before tossing the blanket in the direction of his scarred-up face. Two ticks and she was on her feet, scrambling past the horrified Finnard with her heart in her throat.

“Sorry for waking you up!” she yelled behind her as she ran back into the wood. Branches and brambles tore at her bare skin, but she didn’t care. There would be time enough to worry about such scratches when she was well out of range of her would-be captor.

There was elation in such an adrenaline rush, Zavya’s skin flushed in excitement. Leaf litter and scattered twigs crunched under the racing strides of her feet as she ran deeper and deeper into the wood. Her fingers struggled with the knotted rope around her neck, though she didn’t dare decrease her stride to try to figure it out. The further she could get away, the better. She’d seen how exhausted Einar was. There was no way he could keep up the chase for long.

Be a hell of a lot easier to get away if I could shift, she thought with an accompanying growl, cursing the inefficiency of the human muscular system. Mage or no, there’s no way two legs could keep up with four. Her hands continued to struggle, only managing to loosen one of the knots holding the makeshift collar in place.

The distraction, however brief, caused her to trip over a gnarled tree root, nearly sending the Kelvic sprawling to her face. Thankfully, her recovery was quick, catching herself on hands and knees. She was back on her feet and running again within another tick, but she cursed herself for her carelessness. Zavya didn’t dare look back, simply praying it hadn’t damned her, after all.

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[Belugnir]

Had ravenous spite been the sole measure of feats one can accomplish, Einar would be among men who woupd catch up to a twelve legged stallion whilst running after it on the palms of their bloody hands... Yet, as the world stood and worked, what spite could translate into his two legs might not have been efficient... but it would come to be damn well sufficient. Ein did not run after the fleeing woman. He tore and stomped a path after her, barreling through the woods in her wake.

What skills he did posses were hardly worthy of the manner in which the man acted, in fact they were just barely enough to just barely keep him defiantly alive... and only up until recently... Where his true talent laid was the achievement of things that ought to be beyond reach... at no small expense of his own well being.

He could already see it now. He'd fall asleep inevitably, and some nordling noble's petching brat would put a bolt in him and a chain about his neck... or he'd get shanked and hurled over a dock into the lake on some unsuspecting morning... just because some barefoot twat slave might have ended up taking offense to his apparent argument of not running away from a howlin' cat as if he were some spineless noble boy git.

He wasn't even angry with the woman herself. He was infuriated with himself first and foremost for letting her slip away like a right gullible and prudish dimwit, even after telling her to shove it with her attempts at diplomacy... and that only caused him to drive himself forward that much faster.

And so he barreled through the woods after her, having hurled his poleaxe away along with the blanket she'd tossed at him before fleeing... He'd felt a bruising pain in his left calf as his leg burst through some dried root that apparently had the brilliant idea of obscuring his path without the decency to make itself apparent in the dimly moonlit night...

A point quickly came where his chest felt as if it would burst... and he wasn't even certain if the blur of a shape he was chasing was even the woman anymore... up until she came to trip over a root herself, and although it slowed down for but a breath, that breath and an ounce of blatend dumb luck would come to be all Ein needed.

Though he'd almost caught up in his frenzied charge, the girl still had a couple feet on him... and then he got to stomp onto the rope which dragged across the ground behind her. With all his weight, before his momentum carried his other foot forward, colliding with the suddenly strung rope, still leashed about the kelvic's throat. And so she woupd be yanked back by her neck, not once, but twice, more than likely hurling her from her flight into a sudden breathless sprawl on the ground... and Einar would come to stumble over the ropes he stepped upon, and do likewise, mayhaps barring the inevitable gagging, and thus likely being able to recover an ounce sooner from the shock of lost footing and grab for the woman before she could rightly get up and continue her attempted flight.


He sought to grasp anything. An arm, a leg, her neck, the rope with which she was still bound... ought that would do to keep her in place for but a moment.

"So help me...", Einar's breath was labored to a point where he could utter but a smattering of words before gulping for air as if he'd been locked underground for a decade. And though he was well beyond winded and his legs momentarily refused to obey past letting him crawl on his knees like some crippled freak, the grip of his hand was iron. "I will...", the voice of his heated blood steamed forth into the cold night air through grit teeth. There was a brief glint of cold iron as he'd loosened a dagger from his back with the one hand he could spare to free for a moment... before looking to use the crude blade as a matter of additional persuasion in his attempt to wrest the girl down, pull the back of her head to his chest, leverage his elbow under her chin and around her neck and hold her still and steady 'till he could at least catch enough breath to cocking think straight again.

[Zavya]

The sounds of pursuit were hot on her heels as Zavya ran, what she could only assume was Einar crashing through the undergrowth. How the petch is he so close?! she thought furiously, picking her way through the leaf litter as if her life depended on it—which it likely did. After all that… how can he still have the strength? Zavya had underestimated her opponent yet again, a mistake she hoped didn’t prove to be deadly.

That trip did indeed turn out to be her downfall, the Kelvic fleeing one moment and choking the next. A sharp yank on the rope around her throat made her lose her footing, gagging violently as a second yank brought her fully to the ground. Breath knocked out of her, she could do little more than simply lay there, stunned, bruised, and scratched from head to toe. Hell, why not add a few more scars to the collection? she thought bitterly before the sounds of movement against crunching leaves brought her back into the here and now.

Hands grasped at whatever part of her body they could reach, Zavya flipping back into fury mode. The tigress fought tooth and nail to dislodge Einar’s grasp, scrabbling in the dirt and kicking at him with all the force she could muster. She wasn’t sure how many blows she was able to successfully land, but they were all for naught—it wasn’t long before she found herself firmly within the man’s grasp, his arm around her neck with her body flush against his.

The threat of the knife kept her from doing much more, fiery gaze glaring straight ahead. “You have to let me go,” she growled, breathless and rigid within his hold. “You don’t petching understand!” The Kelvic drew in a few strangled breaths, her heart pounding hard enough to crack her ribs. Cradled within a mockery of such an intimate embrace, she could feel Einar’s doing the same.

“At this point, you’ve seen about every inch of me,” she went on, gasping between her words. “So you can see all these petching scars.” Her glare could cut stone as she continued, “Now, do you think the sort of man who’d give these scars would take very well to lateness?”

Zavya took another few ticks to try and catch her breath, a difficult feat with an arm so tight around her neck. “If you don’t kill me, my master will. And if he doesn’t kill me… he’ll make me wish he had.” She released some of the tension held in her body, letting her head fall back against his chest and relaxing her clenched fists to show she wouldn’t keep fighting.

“Please. I swear by the name of every god in existence that I’m not trying to take your hide, Einar. I’m only trying to save my own.”

The plea was a simple one, heartfelt and utterly sincere. There were no more attempts at posturing or manipulation, only the blunt and honest truth. Ryker’s anger was formidable, and she’d incurred it enough times to know just how… colorful… he could be with his punishments. She understood she hadn’t exactly endeared herself to this man with her method of entry into his camp, but she’d glimpsed an iota of compassion back by the fire. She was banking on that now.

Before she could say another word, a sudden sound deeper in the wood caught her attention, golden eyes flicking in the direction from which it had come. It sounded like footfalls, ones which were rapidly approaching. And they were definitely not human.

“Did you hear that?” she whispered, heart pounding now for an entirely different reason.

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[Belugnir]

Through the struggle before the girl ended up in a choke-hold, she earned herself some indescribable, growled profanities, and a hearty backhand across her right cheek when Einar felt her teeth trying to sink past the fabric of his shirt and into his forearm... whatever afterthought of restraint was hardly helped by the lacerations her nails left upon the side of his neck and under his collar bones... And as he'd listened to the girl speak, the man's head reared back in annoyance, trying to tighten the grip of his arm and failing to render her ever weakening, angered protests silent.

I'm going to find out how well he'd take to a pike in his gut... then I'll chop his prick off, stuff it down your neck... and break them both at as many angles as there are days from spring to winter...... It was likely for the better that he couldn't find the time to growl out what went through his mind. The cold air of night's autumn felt like liquid lead filling his contorting lungs... and his breathing was that much more hindered by the blood that steadily streamed into his mouth from the inside of the cheek he'd managed to bite into as he'd collapsed... It felt almost as if he was getting drunk off the taste of iron.

...And simply hearing the girl speak on, giving in from angered struggle into what seemed like a powerless plea made the man feel a... horribly complicated sort of hatred. For her, for her supposed master, and for himself and the murderous embrace that he was holding her in... It was hardly his real intent to frighten or injure or make her submit... he was simply tired, annoyed... and unhealthily paranoid at the time.

Yet still, there was an insulted, murderous chuckle at her sudden inquiry. ''Did I hear...'', he trailed off, sneering through gulps of air and blood. The hand which held his dagger reared back with intent to deliver a hearty strike of the thing's pommel to the side of the girl's head. Did she think him an absolute imbecile now? That she could so easily get him to drop his guard again?...

Ein never heard the footsteps, but he never came to strike the girl either. The pounding of his own heart deafened him well enough... yet he felt something behind him. And soon enough Zavya would get to feel the head of the man holding her turning to gaze behind them... And then the pounding of his heart and the painful struggling breaths he fought from himself went still... As if the man had suddenly turned to a statue of ice. Indeed... if the creature he now wore as a cloak had chilled him to the core when they first fought... what he saw now had him completely petrified.

Zavya would come to hear the footfalls of the creature again. It wasn't human, it wasn't bipedal... and it was certainly not a thing that only moved on four legs either... Then the man who held her would rear his head back forward, mangled cheek brushing past the back of her head, to let a trembling breath whisper into her ear.

''Run.'', this time he was the one devoid of aggression. He was the one pleading. And then he would have shoved the girl forward so that she may flee back the way she came. To the camp. Toward firelight... and Einar would waste not a moment to do the same, and would come to flee before the girl had she hesitated for but a moment... And had Zavya spent a breath to glance behind her, she would come to find a freezing dread hugging her, if not by merit of sighting a better glimpse of the creature than Einar could, then by means unnatural and unclear... Seven eyes stared at her, mismatched in size and position, devoid of pupils and shining a cold cyan, arranged into a lengthy canine skull, framed by wavering, ebon fur which seemed to melt into the shadows of the night... and form a morbid collection of limbs that couldn't have belonged to a single creature... And the longer she'd have spent looking, the more would the faint moonlight of a cloudless night seem to fade from the world.

[Zavya]

As Einar froze, so did Zavya—wondering what it was he could possibly be seeing to cause such a reaction. Her breaths were short and halting, and she knew within her heart his silence did not bode well. Run. His whispered command in her ear was all she needed. As soon as he released her, she was off and running, only daring for a moment to look back.

When the Kelvic glanced over her shoulder, she wished she hadn’t. She was momentarily frozen in place, pulled in by the darkly hypnotic aura the canine-like creature exuded. The monstrosity that met her eyes was the stuff of nightmares, a multi-eyed and multi-limbed abomination like nothing that should exist on this earth. “Rhysol save us,” she whispered, gripped by terror at the pale sheen of its pointed gaze. The tigress was not particularly devout, but if Ravok’s patron was listening… perhaps he’d hear a prayer or two.

At last, she managed to pull herself out of her stupor and started running again just as fast as her legs would carry her. Her feet pounded the earth as she fled back in the direction they’d come, quickly bringing her back up to pace with her human companion. “Einar, give me your knife,” she demanded through labored breaths. “This rope has to come off. If it catches us…” She swallowed hard, carefully watching her feet for obstacles like the tree root from before. “My human form will do no good. You saw what I am. I can fight.”

Zavya’s steps never slowed, forcing herself beyond what her tired body was willing to do. The creature—whatever it was—was gaining on them, and fast. She wasn’t entirely defenseless as a human, but without a weapon or even a stitch of clothing covering her… she’d much prefer to take her chances as a tiger. When Einar seemed to hesitate, she thought she might explode. “Vagik son of a petching whore!” she shouted, eyes flashing as they ran. “I’m not going to take your throat out! I can help! Do you want to die?!”

By this point, she could practically feel the monster’s breath on the back of her neck, so close their pursuer was. Each step they took, it seemed the monster took five, closing the distance between them rapidly enough that Zavya could feel herself ravaged by true terror. How many death threats must I face in one night? she thought in a panic, forcing herself to go even faster. Far more than any sane creature, apparently…

“Einar, the knife, please!” she pleaded, briefly contemplating if she should just try to wrest it off him. However, she knew that would only serve to kill them both, and that was certainly not she wanted. “We’re losing time!”

As soon as the words left her mouth, she felt a tug on the end of the rope trailing behind her and knew her doom as certain as she knew her own name. Her scream echoed through the wood when she felt her feet swept out from under her, clutching desperately at whatever she could get her hands on as she was steadily dragged backward.

“Help me!!” she shouted desperately to the man who’d been choking her out only moments before. “Please!”

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[Belugnir]

The campsite's dim firelight was on the edge of sight when it happened.

Ein knew that the moment he'd slowed down his stumbling sprint and turned to hand the dagger over, the moment she slowed down to recieve it... they would both be mincemeat... he knew that the moment he halted his breath to yell for her to shut her trap and run faster... they were both bloody dead... He knew that no man nor kelvic nor dhani was ever meant to fight those ungodly bloody abominations... He knew that asking any more sorcery of himself for that purpose was a fool's errand... He knew that he should do ought but turn around... And then he heard the dreadful noise of a straining rope... and the dull sound if a bare body hitting the ground. Yet she was still alive, and yelling and hollering for aid.


...Einar's feet dug in, and with a shaking head he spun around on his heel. His eyes were watery from fewr and desperate anger at the lack of strength he felt... The fraction of a breath felt like cold eternity.

I've already bloody died!

And so he damned everything he knew, bit down hard, and let a ripple of djed surge through his arm.

Zavya would witness the outline of a double, distorted maw choke full with a mess of razor teeth open up above her... before a gout of fire split the night apart, and for a brief while, lifted the tug on her leash... But the pained screech that the night horror let loose at being bathed in embers was something not of this world... A sound so all encompassing and deafeningly heart wrenching that witnessing it seemed an ordeal worse than accepting one's demise...

Shaking through a moment of petrification, Ein would have clawed for a hold and nearly collapsed in the process, to haul the Kelvic up to her feet and hurl her, as it were, into a stumble toward where his dying campfire flickered, had she not gotten off her ass to do as such already.

"I said RUN you daft cunt!", his breath betrayed him halfway through and so he wheezed on through gritting teeth. Within a breath he shook a barely clasped, smoldering fist at the woman, posture held as if he'd been driven to the verge of tears trying to explain ought to an idiotic toddler. "Fire.", Einar weeped, stumbling in a slow run behind the woman...

Hopefully she would be bright enough to gather just how worthless any amount of sinewy limb, tooth and claw would be worth in face of the writhing mess of sharpened bones and monstrous limbs that was still bellowing a promise of oblivion as its ruined, inky visage rearranged itself from the waning flicker of flames Einar had conjured... Hands could wield a torch well better than paws... and at the very least they would have bought enough fractioms of a moment to reach the campsite before the creature could have caught up again.

[Zavya]

Zavya watched in stunned amazement as fire engulfed the creature’s head, its unearthly wail threatening to make her ears bleed. She clapped her hands over them with her own screech before she found herself hauled to her feet. Golden eyes full of gratitude, she grabbed Einar’s hand as he pulled her up before setting off at a run again. The camp was just ahead. They could still make it.

The Kelvic ignored his weeping obscenities as they raced for relative safety, stumbling and limping where she’d managed to twist her ankle in the fall. Fire. That’s the key. Her arm wrapped around Einar’s waist to help him along, his shambling far worse than hers. She felt it was the least she could do after he’d practically snatched her from the slavering jaws of the abomination on their heels.

At last, they reached the edge of the camp, Zavya letting go of Einar to snatch the end of a log poking from the fire. She ignored the burning sensation in her hand—even if she hadn’t grabbed the smoldering end, the wood itself was more than hot enough to scorch her skin. However, she knew this pain would be far less in comparison to what she’d face if that monster managed to catch them.

“Hey! Over here!”

The tigress shouted to get the beast’s attention, whose multiple eyes were far too interested in the severely weakened form of her human companion. At her yell, it whipped its head around to face her, gaping maw giving her an unobstructed view of the razors it called teeth. Swallowing down her fear, she brandished her makeshift torch and dared it forward. To her immense satisfaction, she saw what looked like doubt on its face before it let out a mighty roar.

Her free hand reached to cover one of her ears, cringing at the demonic sound. Did others have a similar reaction when she roared, she idly wondered, though such musings were interrupted by an arrow flying through the air.

“What the…?”

Zavya’s half-spoken question was soon answered when the arrow buried itself in one of the creature’s eyes, Ryker stepping out from behind a nearby tree. Awoken and drawn in by the echo of Zavya’s screams and the wails of the creature itself, it hadn’t taken long for the hunter to track them down. Another arrow quickly followed in succession of the first one, blood of no natural color flowing down the monster’s misshapen face.

The Kelvic wasn’t sure whether to be frightened or relieved to see her master’s familiar face, though at the least, it would tip the odds in their favor. The Valdinox noble was a competent hunter, if nothing else, and she’d be willing to bet his intervention would ensure they made it out alive. Now, the consequences following… that was another story.

“Fire!” she called out to Ryker, waving her torch to show what she meant. “It doesn’t like fire!”

With a nod indicating he understood, her master ran to join them, stopping at Zavya’s side by the campfire. While she waved her flaming log to keep the monster at bay, Ryker ignited one of his arrows in the dying embers. He took a moment to line up his shot before letting fly, the creature’s face soon consumed by flame. A curved smile of smug satisfaction rested on his lips before he lit another arrow, training it on his target with razor-focused determination.

While Ryker was none too pleased to find his slave with a rope around her neck in the camp of another man, there would be time enough for such interrogations after this threat was dealt with. As it was, he waited to see if the creature would go back on the offensive, trying to tune out the horrifying sound of its unnatural screams.

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[Belugnir]

A tick past the continuation of their flight from the night hound, Ein realized he'd just barely felt the legs beneath him, carrying him forward, let alone the woman's effort to help him along... And as soon as they were to the camp and she'd let go, Ein collapsed off to the side, wheezing and whimpering, wide-eyed, clawing about the ground where his weapon was previously left, trembling hands tearing and grasping more dirt and grass than they did the handle of his poleaxe. Barely even half-aware of the girl and the man who'd joined them... What he was aware of, even though his eyes did not see it, was the looming, shambling shadow at his back... And he was aware of fire. Fire that he had expunged from himself, letting crippling cold crawl through his bones in its place. Fire that yearned yet for him to give it birth... Fire that burned but a few feet away and tempted him to hurl himself inside if to bar off the choking cold that gripped him now for but a moment... Abandoning the polearm he couldn't grasp, he shuffled on, altering between three and four limbs on his brief and agonizingly long way over to his campfire... to the pile of unused deadwood beside it... and the bottle which held in it grim, tar-belike liquid.


No. The creature was not fond of fire. And presently these pinkskin pests would come to learn how little it was fond of them and their embers and arrows. The burning log Zavya stuck out was belike a candle flame to the hearth fire hurled upon it by the human woven into the hide of its kin... And it only made it hesitate just long enough for Ryker's first arrow to land, indeed piercing one of its eyes and letting forth glowing paleblood that turned to droplet chunks of ice as the creature began reeling back into the shadows on the edge of the camp's firelight... And then a second arrow brought the touch of flame upon its mangled crown of fur and drew blood again.

Harrowing screams from beyond clear sight stopped for the solitary tick it would have taken before the nordling noble and his slave would come to hear an unsettling sound of clutching sinew and of splintering wood. With mannerism and swiftness utterly unnatural, the trunk of a whole tree was torn from its roots and hurled their way in a near whiplash motion. They were either to duck or be pulverized.