718 Vhalar 66...
With a low, rasping moan, the fruiting ferahom lunged at now soot-coloured eyed Caetano. Twisting in time to avoid the jagged point of the thing’s spear, he used his momentum to swing down toward the wooden shaft with the intent of hacking through it. In a truly impressive display of speed, the spear was retracted, leaving Caetano’s axes to pass through the empty air as he grunted in frustration.
Like a dancer, the creature’s slim legs moved with an oddly juxtaposed fluidity in comparison to his muscular torso. Its singular eye stared wide and blank as Caetano began to slowly circle. Primrose loosed another arrow, and while it sank deep into the mess of vines that comprised the beast’s midsection, it had not been the mark she’d been aiming for and proved a paper thin impetus.
Ether swirled around Mathias’ hands, spheres and cubes mingling in a swarm that buzzed through the air to converge around Caetano, each finding their places.
Shifting its weight back and forth, the ferahom’s arms bulged a half-trill before it darted forward once more. Its movements were too quick; he didn’t have enough time to solidify his ether, and the spear passed right through the invisible fog of his influence and embedded itself in Caetano’s shoulder, easily tearing through the thin leathers of his armour. Rather than retreat, the ferahom took another step forward, shaking the spear’s shaft to further open the wound, eliciting a sharp cry of pain and wild swipe of an axe from Caetano.
Arrow already knocked, Primrose let out a steadying breath, calm in spite of the worry in her eyes. As she released her bowstring, Caetano jerked backwards, freeing himself from the spear’s bite. Eye upon its escaping prey, it didn’t see the arrow until there was nothing for it to see at all. With a wet, squelching pop, the arrow found its mark. It pierced through the eye, lodging itself in the fibrous stalks behind the mask of flesh that was its face. The fruits quivered, but the ferahom continued its advance, arms coiling before stabbing once again.
This time, Mathias was ready. His shield prepared, with a nod of his head, it shifted into position a few inches from Caetano’s stomach. It was large enough to cover about half of the man’s torso in total, more than enough of a radius to provide ample protection. Rather than plunging into the wounded man’s guts, the jagged point of the spear collided with the soft shimmer in the air and was immediately repelled as it shattered the outermost layer of the invisible aegis Mathias had carefully infused with backlash.
Though injured, Caetano wasted no time in taking advantage of the opening Mathias’ magic had provided him. Left arm only strong enough to keep from dropping his weapon, his right swung hard and fast as the ferahom stumbled backwards, the pale white petals of the obsidian centred flower that bloomed from where its second eye should have been frantically fluttered moth-like - back and forth. This time, the blade of his axe slashed a deep cut into the creature’s chest before he jumped backwards and out of the way of the retaliating, wide swipe of the spear.
Another arrow flew through the air and found its way into the upper thigh of the slender leg that seemed, for the most part, the most human limb out of the four. “Shit.” Primrose hurried to ready another shot, gradually retreating.
Caetano’s blood had already mirrored the ferahom’s own collection of white bloom upon its chest and dripped from his fingertips to leave a silver spattering on the stones and short grasses beneath him – his olive skin had already paled considerably, though not purely from loss of blood. Stumbling back several more steps, he ducked low with a moan muffed by his grit teeth as the spear passed over his head. With another grunt of effort, while the creature’s already oozing side was left open in the wake of the swing, Caetano’s axe raised once more as he took a chance to shorten the distance between himself and creature of plant and flesh.
Like chopping down a tree, the axe smashed its way into the cut he’d already made. This time, there was the distinct sound of splintering bone as he staggered back, bracing himself for impact that was instead absorbed by Mathias’ shield as the ferahom swung once again in reprisal. Layer unbroken, there was no activation of magical backlash, but it allowed Caetano time to swing his axe once again, connecting with the creature’s midsection and tearing through the squirming vines, drawing forth yet another steady seepage of dark, tarlike sap.
Many of the pale white of the flowers that grow along the lower half of the torso and sprouted from the cracks in the skin of the legs here and there, were stained a deep emerald from the flow of the ferahom’s “blood”. It never once slowed in its advance, and the spear shot out once more, uncomfortably accurate given the think protrusion that stuck out of its only good eye – or what would have been his good eye without an arrow sticking out of it. Another arrow, another pin into the cushion of its chest, just shy of the left-most gash Caetano had managed carve out earlier.
Mathias, matching Primrose’s slow retreat, shifted his shield to block several more strikes, picking only those that he knew he’d be able to deflect, rather than trying to catch all of the rapid jabs. Caetano, after all, was a competent young man and dodged well enough, though he still sustained a couple glancing scrapes and cuts that he could neither avoid nor could Mathias deflect.
As he and Primrose neared a still-standing wall of stone, she called out with a low urgency as she pulled another arrow from her quiver strapped to her waist. “Running out of space, Cae.’
He grunted his acknowledgement as the ferahom raised its spear to stab downwards only to find the slight shimmer in the air to reject its attack and instead return a blast of force in kind. Accustomed to both the protection Mathias offered and the openings he provided at this point, Caetano moved forward as the spear descended toward him – acting purely upon the assumption that the abrogant would cover him – and swung forward with his axe. The ferahom, stumbling backwards, at last, untangled one of its hand from the spear’s shaft, vines and petals cast to the ground as they were severed by the ruthless edge of the axe. It tried to retaliate, to swing its spear around and knock into the side of Caetano’s head, but Mathias thwarted its attempts with a simple nod.
Dropping his second axe, Caetano reached out with his wounded arm and gripped the creature’s mess of oozing vines that served as its hand and forearm, entrapping the limb in his grip as he swung his axe on its return, cutting deep into and through the creature’s exposed throat. Dying, sap-like liquid dark and viscous pouring from the vines and torn flesh like a floodgate released, rather than stagger back and fall, it lead backwards and raised its hybridized leg, that which tapered from flesh to a jagged, slender point of bark, and, like a flash of lighting, sunk itself deep into Caetano’s leg, bursting through in a complete perforation, drawing forth a surprised shout of pain from the man, before the beast, at last, expired, leg buckling beneath its own weight as it toppled to the ground, blade of bark still lodged firmly through the thigh of the now panting young, bloodied bijaq.
“Cae!” Primrose, first glancing around the area for signs of other ferahoms – or worse – and finding none, hurried to her companion’s side, bow slung over her shoulder as both her hands rummaged through a small satchel attached to her belt next to her quiver. “Droga, that fucker.” She worked quickly, kneeling down beside him and drawing out a poultice and bandages from her satchel before she glanced upwards as Mathias joined them. “We gotta get this thing out of him.”
The “thing” was tapered to a point, suggesting it was best to extract it in the opposite manner it had been thrust through. Upon closer examination, as he nodded in agreement – or understanding – with what Primrose said, he noticed the bark was barbed. Small, hearty thorns about the length of an adult man’s thumbnail protruded in what seemed to be a patternless, haphazard mess. They were angled so that, without an impressive exertion of force, they would catch and hold in the flesh of the victim unfortunate enough to be skewered; the taper was just gradual enough that pulling the leg the rest of the way through – even if they severed the limb just above were it had entered Caetano’s – it would widen the exit wound to double its current size if not more. All this along with the very likely possibility the barbs themselves were toxic.
“How? If we-”
Caetano, clearly in pain – and rightly so – flicked his gaze up from where he’d been staring golden-eyed at the slow well of silver blood around the edges of his wound, and his eyes quickly coloured a dark crimson. “Just pull the fucker out!”
Mathias and Primrose exchanged glances – his curious and her uncertain – before she picked up Caetano’s discarded axe and handed it to Mathias. “I guess… first things first, we’ve gotta-“
With a wet, heavy thud, she was interrupted by the sudden appearance of Kysar’s dark eyes wide in rage and surprise staring up at her as his head rolled to rest against her boot, entirely unattached to the stocky body to which it was meant to belong.
With a low, rasping moan, the fruiting ferahom lunged at now soot-coloured eyed Caetano. Twisting in time to avoid the jagged point of the thing’s spear, he used his momentum to swing down toward the wooden shaft with the intent of hacking through it. In a truly impressive display of speed, the spear was retracted, leaving Caetano’s axes to pass through the empty air as he grunted in frustration.
Like a dancer, the creature’s slim legs moved with an oddly juxtaposed fluidity in comparison to his muscular torso. Its singular eye stared wide and blank as Caetano began to slowly circle. Primrose loosed another arrow, and while it sank deep into the mess of vines that comprised the beast’s midsection, it had not been the mark she’d been aiming for and proved a paper thin impetus.
Ether swirled around Mathias’ hands, spheres and cubes mingling in a swarm that buzzed through the air to converge around Caetano, each finding their places.
Shifting its weight back and forth, the ferahom’s arms bulged a half-trill before it darted forward once more. Its movements were too quick; he didn’t have enough time to solidify his ether, and the spear passed right through the invisible fog of his influence and embedded itself in Caetano’s shoulder, easily tearing through the thin leathers of his armour. Rather than retreat, the ferahom took another step forward, shaking the spear’s shaft to further open the wound, eliciting a sharp cry of pain and wild swipe of an axe from Caetano.
Arrow already knocked, Primrose let out a steadying breath, calm in spite of the worry in her eyes. As she released her bowstring, Caetano jerked backwards, freeing himself from the spear’s bite. Eye upon its escaping prey, it didn’t see the arrow until there was nothing for it to see at all. With a wet, squelching pop, the arrow found its mark. It pierced through the eye, lodging itself in the fibrous stalks behind the mask of flesh that was its face. The fruits quivered, but the ferahom continued its advance, arms coiling before stabbing once again.
This time, Mathias was ready. His shield prepared, with a nod of his head, it shifted into position a few inches from Caetano’s stomach. It was large enough to cover about half of the man’s torso in total, more than enough of a radius to provide ample protection. Rather than plunging into the wounded man’s guts, the jagged point of the spear collided with the soft shimmer in the air and was immediately repelled as it shattered the outermost layer of the invisible aegis Mathias had carefully infused with backlash.
Though injured, Caetano wasted no time in taking advantage of the opening Mathias’ magic had provided him. Left arm only strong enough to keep from dropping his weapon, his right swung hard and fast as the ferahom stumbled backwards, the pale white petals of the obsidian centred flower that bloomed from where its second eye should have been frantically fluttered moth-like - back and forth. This time, the blade of his axe slashed a deep cut into the creature’s chest before he jumped backwards and out of the way of the retaliating, wide swipe of the spear.
Another arrow flew through the air and found its way into the upper thigh of the slender leg that seemed, for the most part, the most human limb out of the four. “Shit.” Primrose hurried to ready another shot, gradually retreating.
Caetano’s blood had already mirrored the ferahom’s own collection of white bloom upon its chest and dripped from his fingertips to leave a silver spattering on the stones and short grasses beneath him – his olive skin had already paled considerably, though not purely from loss of blood. Stumbling back several more steps, he ducked low with a moan muffed by his grit teeth as the spear passed over his head. With another grunt of effort, while the creature’s already oozing side was left open in the wake of the swing, Caetano’s axe raised once more as he took a chance to shorten the distance between himself and creature of plant and flesh.
Like chopping down a tree, the axe smashed its way into the cut he’d already made. This time, there was the distinct sound of splintering bone as he staggered back, bracing himself for impact that was instead absorbed by Mathias’ shield as the ferahom swung once again in reprisal. Layer unbroken, there was no activation of magical backlash, but it allowed Caetano time to swing his axe once again, connecting with the creature’s midsection and tearing through the squirming vines, drawing forth yet another steady seepage of dark, tarlike sap.
Many of the pale white of the flowers that grow along the lower half of the torso and sprouted from the cracks in the skin of the legs here and there, were stained a deep emerald from the flow of the ferahom’s “blood”. It never once slowed in its advance, and the spear shot out once more, uncomfortably accurate given the think protrusion that stuck out of its only good eye – or what would have been his good eye without an arrow sticking out of it. Another arrow, another pin into the cushion of its chest, just shy of the left-most gash Caetano had managed carve out earlier.
Mathias, matching Primrose’s slow retreat, shifted his shield to block several more strikes, picking only those that he knew he’d be able to deflect, rather than trying to catch all of the rapid jabs. Caetano, after all, was a competent young man and dodged well enough, though he still sustained a couple glancing scrapes and cuts that he could neither avoid nor could Mathias deflect.
As he and Primrose neared a still-standing wall of stone, she called out with a low urgency as she pulled another arrow from her quiver strapped to her waist. “Running out of space, Cae.’
He grunted his acknowledgement as the ferahom raised its spear to stab downwards only to find the slight shimmer in the air to reject its attack and instead return a blast of force in kind. Accustomed to both the protection Mathias offered and the openings he provided at this point, Caetano moved forward as the spear descended toward him – acting purely upon the assumption that the abrogant would cover him – and swung forward with his axe. The ferahom, stumbling backwards, at last, untangled one of its hand from the spear’s shaft, vines and petals cast to the ground as they were severed by the ruthless edge of the axe. It tried to retaliate, to swing its spear around and knock into the side of Caetano’s head, but Mathias thwarted its attempts with a simple nod.
Dropping his second axe, Caetano reached out with his wounded arm and gripped the creature’s mess of oozing vines that served as its hand and forearm, entrapping the limb in his grip as he swung his axe on its return, cutting deep into and through the creature’s exposed throat. Dying, sap-like liquid dark and viscous pouring from the vines and torn flesh like a floodgate released, rather than stagger back and fall, it lead backwards and raised its hybridized leg, that which tapered from flesh to a jagged, slender point of bark, and, like a flash of lighting, sunk itself deep into Caetano’s leg, bursting through in a complete perforation, drawing forth a surprised shout of pain from the man, before the beast, at last, expired, leg buckling beneath its own weight as it toppled to the ground, blade of bark still lodged firmly through the thigh of the now panting young, bloodied bijaq.
“Cae!” Primrose, first glancing around the area for signs of other ferahoms – or worse – and finding none, hurried to her companion’s side, bow slung over her shoulder as both her hands rummaged through a small satchel attached to her belt next to her quiver. “Droga, that fucker.” She worked quickly, kneeling down beside him and drawing out a poultice and bandages from her satchel before she glanced upwards as Mathias joined them. “We gotta get this thing out of him.”
The “thing” was tapered to a point, suggesting it was best to extract it in the opposite manner it had been thrust through. Upon closer examination, as he nodded in agreement – or understanding – with what Primrose said, he noticed the bark was barbed. Small, hearty thorns about the length of an adult man’s thumbnail protruded in what seemed to be a patternless, haphazard mess. They were angled so that, without an impressive exertion of force, they would catch and hold in the flesh of the victim unfortunate enough to be skewered; the taper was just gradual enough that pulling the leg the rest of the way through – even if they severed the limb just above were it had entered Caetano’s – it would widen the exit wound to double its current size if not more. All this along with the very likely possibility the barbs themselves were toxic.
“How? If we-”
Caetano, clearly in pain – and rightly so – flicked his gaze up from where he’d been staring golden-eyed at the slow well of silver blood around the edges of his wound, and his eyes quickly coloured a dark crimson. “Just pull the fucker out!”
Mathias and Primrose exchanged glances – his curious and her uncertain – before she picked up Caetano’s discarded axe and handed it to Mathias. “I guess… first things first, we’ve gotta-“
With a wet, heavy thud, she was interrupted by the sudden appearance of Kysar’s dark eyes wide in rage and surprise staring up at her as his head rolled to rest against her boot, entirely unattached to the stocky body to which it was meant to belong.
