Completed A Chance Encounter (Belugnir)

[Zavya]

Golden eyes widened in disbelief as the massive projectile came hurtling toward them, Zavya only managing to drop to the ground at the last tick. Ryker wasn’t far behind, the pair flattened against the dirt as the trunk flew over their prone bodies. “It can throw trees?” her master shouted angrily before scrambling back to his feet. “Are you petching kidding me?!”

Zavya’s reaction was no less extreme, even if she wasn’t quite so vocal about it. With a growl, she dropped her torch and grabbed for the knife she knew was strapped to her master’s waist. “Zavya, what do you think you’re doing?!” he snarled as he pulled away from her. Too late, however… she had her prize.

“Ending this.”

Two ticks and the rope was cut away from her throat, the makeshift leash falling to the forest floor before she threw the dagger to the side. A blinding flash of light split through the camp, the scarred-up human soon replaced by a very pissed off, enormous striped cat. Pawing the ground, her hackles rose as her tail twitched furiously behind her. Keeping close to the ground, she started stalking in the direction of the canid abomination—molten gaze focused and furious.

“Zavya, stop! I command you!”

Was that worry in Ryker’s voice? She never thought she’d live to see the day. She spared one last glance over her shoulder, fiery gold meeting steel blue for the space of a breath.

No.

“Zavya!!”

Muscles bunched before she pounced, mouth opening on an ear-shattering roar as she leapt for her target. The element of surprise was on her side, the monster falling back as she collided with it. Her teeth gnashed for whatever she could grab, terror forgotten in the force of her rage. Tiger and wolf-beast exploded in a tangle of fur, limb, and claw, rolling over and over each other as they grappled at the other’s throat.

After what seemed like an eternity, Zavya’s jaws closed around something, even if she wasn’t quite sure what. With all the force she could muster, she pulled and tore and ripped until whatever it was popped off into her mouth. Another unearthly wail rent the night as acid blood spewed out from one of its disjointed shoulders, spraying the Kelvic’s face amidst her own pained yowl. She threw what turned out to be one of its many legs to the side and fought to ignore the pain, shaking the putrid fluid from her fur as best she could. She disentangled herself from its other limbs and started circling it—aiming to keep it moving so it couldn’t get a clear blow on her.

Stopping and stomping one of her paws, she dared it forward again, her growl nearly as menacing as the nightmarish sounds of the creature itself. Come at me, you ugly bastard. You’re not the only petching monster in the woods tonight.

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[Belugnir]

Surprise was indeed on the tigress' side, for the flash of light that brought her own bestial form into being also had the night horror reeling back into the darkening treelines, for an instance nearly blind.

Then came the tumbling, the gnawing and the visceral, murderous groping in the dark. And just as the hound's impairment came to an end, one of the limbs from the side of its torso had been chewed and pulled off... and it and the feeline creature that had assailed it found themselves a moderate ways away from where their wrestling began... further away from warmth and light.


Shimmering blood gave way to black, pugnant ichor as the hound lurched backwards. The smell of its blood was heavy with stagnant decay that bit at the nose and the eyes, poisoned with frost, it would take very little time to crackle the tears in the eyes of those who partook of the horrid fragrance into blinding ice.

The creature brought itself low upon the ground when the tiger dared it back into the fray. For a moment it simply stared from its crouched stance, silent and unmovoing. It was not a roar or a wail that broke its silence, but a resentful inhale. And then the flame-eyed cat-fiend would become privy to a sight most unsettling.

Bleeding began. Not from the creature's wounds, but from the soil about it. Dark shapes cast by the forest upon the earth began contorting, shadows of shrub and tree alike seemed to dissolve into liquid that would bring diziness to the most clarvoyant of minds with the manner of its movements... as it all 'bled' and melded with the night hound.

"Call your bitch off... before she's--", Einar mumbled to Ryker, arms shaking as he shoved firewood to the burning pile in the middle of his camp, having connured the sense and strength to at least kneel up... yet the sound of splintering wood and cracking muscle from beyond sight cut him off.

In the span of three breaths the creature went from a low stance against the ground and just barely larger than the tigress, to over thrice and some her size, its upper body straightening itself to tower over her, leaned onto three mismatched hind limbs, pushing, tearing and snapping apart the surrounding trees aside as its form convulsed and contorted as if it would burst apart at any moment... and burst it did, yet only in a single spot, where its missing limb was left as a stump, and from the wound tore forth two lanky, unsettling arms, bathed in a mess of liquified dark flesh and tufts of taited fur.

The howl that came with this unholy restoration could hardly be called such. It was a sound so ruinous and otherworldly that if twelve feverish nightmares were given voice to shout the life out of the world with in a single breath, they would struggle to match it.

Leth seemed to turn a frightfully blind eye to the forest, for the black hound's voice as it were was enough to bring the striding to a halt, the haltee to their knees, and the kneeling to bottomless despair. It frightened the life out of the ground, the warmth from the air, it frightened the light out of fire. The ground around the two beasts crackled with a thin layer of brittle ice and back at the camp, the bonfire Einar had just barely managed to build by hastily shoving his remaining supply of deadwood into the flames and dousing it all in a whole flask of lantern oil... flickered and nearly went out at the night fiend's roar.

This infernal, crippling bellow was followed by the sound of the earth coming torn apart in the wake of a grotesque claw, the size of a grown man's torso, as it was swung to swat away the brazen amber-eyed feeline.

[Zavya]

Poor judgement seemed to be the theme of the day for Zavya, the tigress utterly paralyzed as that horrific stench pierced the air. Mistakes on mistakes, she thought as icy tears welled in her eyes, rooted to the spot she stood. She stared into pale, unnerving eyes, unable to move or even think when nightmare became manifest and the earth started to warp around them.

Darkness, everywhere darkness, molding and building on itself as the hound seemed to absorb the world around it. Horrifyingly enormous already, it tripled in size, and yet still, Zavya couldn’t move. Where she’d ripped off a leg, two more grew, and it was then she realized just how reckless her foolhardy actions had been. Her pride had consumed her, convinced even a beast of such pure terror could not withstand her teeth and claws for long. How many times was she destined to be wrong in one night?

The unearthly wail that rent the darkness set every hair on her body on end, her muscles turning softer than butter as she shuddered at the sound. Unmoving with fear, paralyzed by certain death, Zavya could do no more than watch as the creature’s massive head reared up, cold, cold eyes fixing her within their sight.

“Zavya! Zavya, run!” Ryker’s shouts were lost in the pounding of her heart filling her ears, hearing his voice, but unable to heed it. Run? Run where? Run how? This monster seemed everywhere at once, in her mind, in the trees, in the earth… where could she even go?

Even when the hound lifted its massive paw, the Kelvic couldn’t find it within her to flinch away—every nerve in her body screaming at her to run, to fight, to do anything… But she couldn’t. The monster was every story told to every child to keep them in line; it was the shiver down one’s spine when the fire went out without warning; it was the fluttering of one’s heart when a hunter stalked the shadows… he was fear. Fear incarnate, fear made flesh, and Zavya was utterly helpless to do more than stare as fear came to claim her.

The creature’s paw made contact, a boulder slamming against her ribs and knocking her to the side as if she were nothing more than a rag doll. Her breath left her in a whoosh, agony blossoming through her like a screaming flower. But it wasn’t done with her, not yet, not after her display from before. Now, it was the cat, and she was the mouse, and she would rue the day she was ever born.

Teeth closed around her leg, teeth that were ice and fire all in one. Those teeth finally seemed to break her paralysis, the tigress thrashing back and forth as it held her in an immutable grip. Blood ran down her foreleg in a scarlet river, the fluid coagulating and freezing as it stained her fur. Her free paw batted violently at its face, claws unsheathed and ripping for its ghastly eyes. Still, it wouldn’t let go, determined to remove her own limb as she had done to it only chimes before. However, she had no fail-safe, no regenerative ability… her own removal would come at a much higher cost.

What do I do?! she thought desperately, eerie feline screams piercing the wood, even if she couldn’t hope to match the terror of the monster’s own call. Damaging it only seems to make it stronger, and without fire or light…

Golden eyes widened as her epiphany struck, snarling as she made one last swipe with her paw. Light. I do have light. Hopefully it’s enough.

A bright flash of light burst through the trees as Zavya shifted yet again, olive-skined human replacing the tiger in his jaws. A much smaller arm slipped out from between his teeth, the hound just as paralyzed as she had been moments before. It bought her enough of an opening to start stumbling away, her arm a bloody, macabre mess clutched to her chest as she limped back to camp.

Frost was slipping into her bones with every step, her entire arm feeling as if it was carved from ice. Pain lacerated every nerve in her body as she fought toward the fire, Ryker running toward her, catching her around the waist, and hauling her back. “Bloody, petching fool,” he hissed at her as they moved back beyond the campfire, Zavya shivering violently in his arms.

“C-can’t fault me for t-trying,” Zavya replied between chattering teeth, her lips going blue as she looked up at him. Consciousness and awareness were both fading fast as he eased her from his grasp, the tigress clawing toward the flickering fire as if it might restore the warmth in her flesh.

She looked over toward Einar with the faint hint of a smile, injured arm hanging uselessly at her side as the other wrapped around her body in a meager attempt to ward off the chill from inside. “S-sorry, Einar,” she shivered out. “Know I s-said I wouldn’t k-kill you, but I m-might’ve done it anyway…”

Her eyes started to flicker shut as blood pooled around her, Ryker letting loose a string of expletives enough to make the most hardened sailor blush. He took up his stance from before, lighting arrow after arrow from the dying embers of the campfire and shooting blindly into the dark. They couldn’t just give up… there had to be a way…

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[Belugnir]

The brunt of his impulsive caster's fever had just began to pass... and then the world shook in horror, the fire he'd so hazardously piled everything he could onto was reduced to little more than weakling embers, and Ein found the feline shifter by his side, wounded and bleeding, muttering whispers of apology which he'd barely understood amidst the silent chaos of his own still mind and freezing blood... and amidst the cold indifference of another tree's trunk viciously hurling over their heads, provoked by the shots Ryker drove into the deep dark beyond their sight... And then finally, as arrows began to run low, the abominable outline of their stalker began circling the edge of their clearing, waiting for embers to turn to cinder and for cinder to turn to ash. Then they three would die.

It was a novelty for Einar. To wallow in helplessness, and linger in fear and a weakling's hesitation. Even as a child, he could never be kept in line, be it with fables of horror or the crack of whips. As a boy, he'd out-spited and out lived men who'd all towered over him in strength, stature and wit. As a youth, he chewed and clawed his way from bonds and chains not once but twice. As the years went on he grew ever more capable of stomping and wrestling and yelling his way through the world, and ever held on to life even if it were by the skin of his teeth. Then, as a man, he turned a plaything of chance and by idle intervention came to live through and past what ought to have been the utter death of any mortal a creature... And as for this night, beset upon by brave idiots, hungry, tired, in pain and staring down the wrath of yet another morbidity of fate... he was fed up with it. He'd died and lived through shyke like this before.

There comes a point where fear and despair fester together and burst apart to birth hysteria, lashing out upon the world in helpless and frightful abandon. Mindlessly funneled djed and blood turned from chilled to smoldering rushed into trembling limbs, and Einar got to his feet, moving as if weighted down by leagues upon leagues of chains that would drag his body down. Yet his weighty movements betrayed an unsettling intent...

Ein's hand found the poleaxe by his side and he thrust the weapon's head into the smattering of dying flame, grasping at the still searing hot ashes with his other bare hand. There was no more oil to hurl into the flame, no more torches to light... Ember was kindled into a soaring flame for a breath's span as Ein poured out the heat of his own flesh to reignite the tar and oil which now hung clutching the blade and pikes of his weapon, soaked and shoveled up from the ruin of his campfire.

With a flame-coated poleaxe in one hand, his other found its way to Ryker's shoulder, charred fingers clutching for a moment as if they meant to pull the dimwit's arm clean off, before shoving him Zavya's way.

''Take her and fall from sight.'', heavy breaths delivered a low, raspy voice and turned to steam and smoke as they left his bosom. He did not spare a moment to see if Ryker would obey his instruction.

And so he advanced on the hound, polearm outstretched pointing the hound's way with leisure as Ein strode forward, straight of posture, his head tilted backwards and chin thrust forth, issuing silent, brazen taunt and challenge. Having flinched away from yet another sudden burst of flame, and now witness to this insult, the hound's form visibly trembled, distorting with wrath. And in a fit of indescribable fury, it began barreling forward to erase this fool who stood so eager to turn himself to a living bonfire, and the pests who stood and laid behind, who'd had the audacity to prick it with searing arrows and bite it with milky teeth.

Einar had the dumb luck of half ducking half stumbling under the creature's leap in which flailing limbs and claws would have turned him to paste with but a sweep. Soil shook and folded under the hound's landing, and a massive claw came swiping for Ryker, albeit the princeling bowman managed to leap backwards and away in time, before falling down onto his backside in the midst of narrowly avoiding yet another lunge, and afterward placing his bow in the way of a smaller limb's claw, preserving his own life but tearing the delicate weapon to splinters. And Ryker would of died then and there, had the beast not began to wail and tumble backwards, flailing claws under itself with panicked abandon.

Ein had received the swipe of a claw onto his polearm, using the heavy ash handle to shove the nightmarish limb away, and rounding up the motion to ram the long spike of his weapon into the hound's side. The mercenary was nearly pulled of his feet as the creature began reeling backwards, and would have been eviscerated had he not lunged forward and under the thing's belly. His axeblade hooked upon something within the monster's torso, and he twisted his grip and pulled the polearm's head in his wake. Heated steel hooked and sheared apart ghostly flesh, and Ein felt himself growing deaf with the nightmarish growls that echoed from over him, sending tremors through the ground. In a mindless frenzy, the hound attempted to heave its body downward and crush the man beneath... yet that only served to drive the weapon within it deeper into its core. And in the hound's cry of anguish, all fire and heat from the clearing finally died out, and as it leaped backward, the man underneath it was finally pulled off his feet by the polearm jammed inside the hound, and brought hurdling onto the ground...

Yet the damage was done, and though the only light remaining in sight was the moon's pale shade, and though the hound attempted yet again to feast upon the night and restore its form, its heart had been touched with but an ember's heat, and as the shadows poured into its body once again, instead of reforming into a stronger visage, its form began to bloat and contort uncontrollably, blobbing growths bursting apart with shining frost-blood, shadowy limbs dissolving into tar, pooling together upon the ground, while the echoes of dying inhales would send cold chills catching each other down the backs of men and beasts who'd witnessed the scene... Until finally, the failure of its unholy attempt at restoration ended with the monster's body dispersing wholly, a gathering of ghostly tendrils surging back into the dark of the forest, leaving Einar's cooling polearm to fall limply into the vast pond of liquid frost and shadow upon the ground... And the moon finally dared shine its full-bellied glow down upon the forest again.

[Zavya]

Take her and fall from sight.

That was exactly what Ryker had intended to do: grab his slave, run back to camp, and let whoever this mother petcher was deal with the nightmarish abomination that had absorbed the night. What concern was it of his if this man died? Better him than me, the Valdinox thought, curling his lip with a hiss of pain as the savage’s searing fingers dug into his arm. Before he could even say a word, his arm was released, shoved in the direction of Zavya before the other stormed off with purpose in his stride.

Four long strides took him to the girl’s fallen body, blood streaked across her skin as it tangled her hair and stained the dirt around her. “Foolish, idiotic girl,” he muttered, leaning down to lightly press his fingers to her throat. “What were you even doing here?” A faint, fluttering pulse met his inspection, and he nodded. She’d live. He knew the tiger was too stubborn not to.

Ryker started to gather the unconscious Kelvic in his arms when he heard the creature charge, letting her fall to the ground again as he turned to find the deranged hound heading in his direction. Reflexively, he slung his bow off his shoulders, but not soon enough—an enormous claw barreled toward him, his weapon splintering in his hands as he raised it to defend himself.

Bow ruined, he threw up his arms in a last show of resistance, bracing himself for the blow that never came. When it didn’t, he let his hands fall in confusion. Where had it gone? Steel blues widened as they fell on their target, the hulking beast standing over the much smaller mercenary. The odds seemed stacked, unconquerable. But this strange man they’d stumbled up on in the woods… that didn’t seem to stop him.

The hunter looked on in frank amazement as the smoking figure defied all odds, the blade of his poleax ripping through the massive hound’s midsection. Rage and hopeless fury seemed to follow in his wake, those unearthly screams threatening to split his ears apart. It fought and it thrashed, it flailed and it hurled, but in the end only served to damn itself more. Splitting off into chunks and dissipating, it puddled and slunk away, and Ryker could only hope that was finally the end of it. Whatever it was.

To his shock, the other still yet seemed to live, broken and beaten and thrown about as he was. After a few ticks of stunned silence, Ryker seemed to at last find his voice again. “What the hell was that?” he bellowed, fear and adrenaline catching up to him at once. Zavya was all but forgotten, a lump in the dirt by the extinguished campfire as he strode over to where the man had been thrown in the leaf litter of the forest floor.

“And who the petch are you, anyway?!” While there was some begrudging admiration for what he had just accomplished, Ryker was all anger and no outlet. It had to find one somewhere, however misplaced. “Why was she here with you?” His thumb jerked back in his slave’s general direction. “You’d better start coming up with some answers soon, or Rhysol help me…”

His threat was open-ended and baseless, especially after the horror made flesh they’d just faced down. But it mattered naught to the Valdinox, he simply needed to feel like he was in control. And Ryker was a man that did not take that loss of control lightly.

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[Belugnir]

It felt as if his entire body had become a live wound, and every breath he took would be salt poured into it. Ein writhed on the ground, trembling knees and hands holding him up from being an motionless heap. Clotting blood and vomit came together, lurching from his belly and burning his throat with the aimless heat he'd dedicated to worsting the nightmare dog... Then a voice came from behind him... and it boomed in his deafened head as if he'd been under a bell-dome whilst an army of men pounded upon it's sides... Contorting as if his own body would burst apart any second, smeared in cinders, vapor, blood and tar, he rose from the ground to have twitching eyes bring him a the blurry image of that bowman twat... shouting and spouting horseshyke as nordlings do.

A skinless, smoldering hand rose from beneath the monstrous cloak he wore, and shining cinders fell from its flesh as charred fingers began to clutch together into a fist. What little sanity still lingered and struggled amidst the maelstrom of his feverish overgiving and the maddening arrogance birthed of banishing that cocksucking fiend knew that he could slump down into unconsciousness any moment and mayhaps never wake up... but its voice was soundly ignored.

''Rhysol won't help you. Milksop. No god will.'', spoken words could as well have been jagged knives climbing up his gullet. A finger pointed forth from his clutched, ruined hand, trembling rabidly as it gestured toward the slave laid upon the ground. ''Your pet tried to murder me. Then she tried to run. And she got what for... As will you if you do not leave my sights this fucking instant.'', amidst the searing pain and the damage that careless sorcery and self exertion caused, Einar's voice became at once a hissing whisper and a piercing scream. Had this pretty boy cocksucker lingered for but a breath, Ein would make it a point to advance forward in spite of sinew and tendon creaking and begging for rest and stillness for their limbs. He still had one good hand. And a mouthful of teeth. He had become fed up with those hounds' bullshyke... and he was long since fed up with the bullshyke of average Ravokians. As he was, there weren't enough pissing noble titles and executioners upon this continent to make the southerner care for consequence and reprisal of sticking this noisy prick into several separate shallow graves... And he would hardly care for the number of wavering limbs that might detach from his own body whilst he'd be seeing the deed through.

And only after the princeling was either dead or fled away from sight and mind with his battered slave, when silence reigned the forest, would Ein begin to let himself cool down and salvage sound reason from the ashes of crumbling health and strength. Eventually, crawling and weeping amidst numbing pain, he would come to clutch a silvery flute and pull it from his scattered pile of belongings. Labored breaths would begin to blow life into Leth's enchanted trinket, and at its healing melody moonlight began to gather into soothing white wisps of candle-fire, wandering the meadow, shyly calming the mind and guiding a wounded body back down the steps from death's door... It would take a long while before Ein once again put together enough of himself to worry over his surroundings, his poor mountain pony, who'd finally began to settle down after nearly wringing its own neck in maddened attempts to break free and flee amidst the former chaos... it would take nearly 'till the crack of dawn before Ein could bring himself to worry over the ransacked campsite... or notice an ornate oddity of silver and obsidian, shaped in the likeness of fire, which now hugged the handle of his polearm, long cold and abandoned within the pond of a nightmare's ruin.

[Zavya]

Grades!

 

Zavya

Skills Earned:

Endurance +3
Intimidation +3
Logic +1
Observation +5
Persuasion +4
Running +3
Socialization +5
Stealth +1
Tracking +1
Unarmed Combat +3
Wrestling +1

Lores:

Einar: Captor
Einar: Not like most humans
Gaur: Can change size and regenerate limbs
Gaur: A houndlike beast borne from darkness, ice, and nightmares
Gaur: Inflicted injury causes frostbite
Gaur: Multiple eyes and limbs
Gaur: Weak to fire
Kelvic: Collars prevent transformation
Kelvic: Using light of transformation to stun Gaur
Kelvic: Using transformation to reduce size and avoid attack
Running: Much easier and faster with four legs instead of two
Ryker: Hunter
Ryker: Owner
Self: Impulsive, but brave
Self: Likes swimming
Unarmed Combat: Ripping off a limb

Penalties: Burned face, bruised arm, severely bruised ribs, nearly severed arm (teeth marks will scar), frostbite

 

Belugnir

Skills Earned:

Endurance +3
Flux +2
Intimidation +3
Observation +5
Reimancy +3
Running +2
Socialization +5
Subterfuge +1
Trapping +1
Unarmed Combat +1
Weapon: Poleaxe +2
Wildnerness Survival: Forest +1
Wrestling +1

Lores:

Finnard: Doesn't like Zavya
Flux: Using djed to strengthen an attack
Gaur: Can change size and regenerate limbs
Gaur: A houndlike beast borne from darkness, ice, and nightmares
Gaur: Multiple eyes and limbs
Gaur: Weak to fire
Kelvic: Collars prevent transformation
Overgiving: Causes mood swings
Poleaxe: Using a heated blade to cripple the Gaur
Reimancy: Reigniting an extinguished campfire
Self: Bad at reading others
Self: Could never be kept in line
Self: Not fooled by Zavya's attempts at manipulation
Zavya: Kelvic tiger
Zavya: Slave of Ryker Valdinox
Zavya: Striped twat

Rewards: Flames of the Black Sun

Penalties: Moderate-severe overgiving, nail marks on left side of neck and collarbones, some pretty nasty burns

Comments: This thread was everything I ever could have wanted and helped me find one of my favorite thread partners to date. <3 I really admire your creativity and the insufferable character you've created with Einar. I can't wait for the uphill battle between these two and all the further shenanigans to come!

If you have any questions or concerns, feel free to PM me!