75th of Ashan ~ 21:00 - Continued from here.
They were late into the trial now; the sun was setting over the plains that Varthakh strode across with their domain bag in claw. They wore their Kinaba skin blindfold and loincloth while they walked with a rune of touch and sound glowing on the side of their head. They had no sense of smell to guide them, so they focused on searching the area for familiar landmarks that guided them to their late totem's path.
The walk had been filled with chatter from all of them, all discussing what they would do once they reached Kael Jeger. Most of them were in agreement that the Jeger wouldn't welcome them back, though some of them, namely the ithecal, preached honesty. In truth, the Protean didn't know where they stood. Perhaps it was their spark's sudden obsession with their newest additions, but they didn't want to take the deceptive route. Ganren was a wise man and would likely see through them.
Soft grass met each tread of their claws, though it didn't feel anything like they'd experienced when they walked as Fridgar. Their tail dragged along the ground behind them, leaving a rut in their wake and their claws tore up the ground.
Surprisingly, the journey had been quite peaceful. They hadn't encountered many monsters in the fields in their journey. The odd stekir or so was fairly common but other than that; nothing. They believed themselves to be in luck when they heard the sound of blaring horns and alarms ahead of them. The sounds reverberated off the runes on their arms and legs and molded around the contours of the structures that surrounded the source of the sound. It was Kaer Jeger, they knew by the sound alone, but they still felt it all the same.
Those were the same alarms that sounded during their first visit; the warnings of an approaching stranger. The instinct to preserve themselves urged them to run at the sound of the horn's call, but they barely listened. Varthakh was lost in their dream-like euphoria while they walked without concern. This placed hailed as home to them, despite the loss of Fridgar. Soon, they heard the roars of the Scython-Ur as they drew near as well as the clanking of the submission chains and shell-shatter harpoons.
It was a welcome party, likely the same one that had torn them to pieces on their first encounter with the Jeger.
"Halt!" One of the Lothar yelled at them in Haltunga, and they complied. The men looked about one another, as though they were surprised that the Outlander had listened to their native tongue. "Drop the bag and raise your hands," came their next order with firmness in the tone. They dropped their Domain bag and lifted their claws over their head in a way that their palms faced the men. Despite the massive size of the Lothar, they were near enough half Varthakh's size. When the Lotharren told them to "Kneel," they rested taller than most of them, still.
The Jeger looked about one another then nodded in agreement. They continued to speak in Haltunga as they addressed the Protean, "identify yourself." They lifted their head a little and looked to the direction of the one that addressed them. This was it, the time to tell the truth or continue to lie. "We are Varthakh, the successor of Fridgar Calder, Hound of the Jeger."
Upset stirred among them and some of them drew weapons. "Hold!" Shouted the pack master, and the men stayed their weapons. "What do you mean by 'Successor', Lizard?" he asked. Varthakh paused, then drew a steady breath through their nose. "He was slain in battle; we carry his legacy."
The Packmaster seemed distraught, the tension in his form was obvious with their keen senses. "We would speak with Ganren," they said then, "we would," they added in a whisper. The Packmaster paused again, then lowered his hand with an audible growl. "Take his bag," came their order. Fridgar's whole form tensed then. All their totems were in their bag. They couldn't let them go, not again. "You can't," the spoke loudly. The Packmaster looked back to them, irate.
"We can't be separated from them, please..." they pleaded. The Packmaster managed to stay his aggression at the plea and lifted his hand to stop the approaching Jeger. "Who's 'them'?" he asked. "My totems," Varthakh explained, "We've lost too many... We have."
"Totems? You're a becomer? A..."
"Protean," Varthakh finished. The men seemed unsure then, and they looked to their leader. Fridgar had been the only Protean in the Jeger, and they were the renowned battle lurker that they armed to strike back against the Giants. "And the hound... What was your relation to him?" They asked with suspicion. Varthakh exhaled then and parted their lips to speak; "he was us, one of our beloved totems."
At once, the Packmaster glared, then crossed his arms. "So, you're Fridgar? Prove it. Show us the Lurker." With that, Fridgar nodded. Some of the Jeger moved away in caution before Fridgar let Reiner loose. At once, he manifested over their form and grew them massively. They took a height near enough to forty feet tall with a body that was wrapped in rippling muscle, a mane of platinum hair and long flowing horns that rested above grew from their head. Their black and red eyes looked down at the Jeger as they marveled upward at them. They had become Reiner, their Lurker of the Plains.
They were late into the trial now; the sun was setting over the plains that Varthakh strode across with their domain bag in claw. They wore their Kinaba skin blindfold and loincloth while they walked with a rune of touch and sound glowing on the side of their head. They had no sense of smell to guide them, so they focused on searching the area for familiar landmarks that guided them to their late totem's path.
The walk had been filled with chatter from all of them, all discussing what they would do once they reached Kael Jeger. Most of them were in agreement that the Jeger wouldn't welcome them back, though some of them, namely the ithecal, preached honesty. In truth, the Protean didn't know where they stood. Perhaps it was their spark's sudden obsession with their newest additions, but they didn't want to take the deceptive route. Ganren was a wise man and would likely see through them.
Soft grass met each tread of their claws, though it didn't feel anything like they'd experienced when they walked as Fridgar. Their tail dragged along the ground behind them, leaving a rut in their wake and their claws tore up the ground.
Surprisingly, the journey had been quite peaceful. They hadn't encountered many monsters in the fields in their journey. The odd stekir or so was fairly common but other than that; nothing. They believed themselves to be in luck when they heard the sound of blaring horns and alarms ahead of them. The sounds reverberated off the runes on their arms and legs and molded around the contours of the structures that surrounded the source of the sound. It was Kaer Jeger, they knew by the sound alone, but they still felt it all the same.
Those were the same alarms that sounded during their first visit; the warnings of an approaching stranger. The instinct to preserve themselves urged them to run at the sound of the horn's call, but they barely listened. Varthakh was lost in their dream-like euphoria while they walked without concern. This placed hailed as home to them, despite the loss of Fridgar. Soon, they heard the roars of the Scython-Ur as they drew near as well as the clanking of the submission chains and shell-shatter harpoons.
It was a welcome party, likely the same one that had torn them to pieces on their first encounter with the Jeger.
"Halt!" One of the Lothar yelled at them in Haltunga, and they complied. The men looked about one another, as though they were surprised that the Outlander had listened to their native tongue. "Drop the bag and raise your hands," came their next order with firmness in the tone. They dropped their Domain bag and lifted their claws over their head in a way that their palms faced the men. Despite the massive size of the Lothar, they were near enough half Varthakh's size. When the Lotharren told them to "Kneel," they rested taller than most of them, still.
The Jeger looked about one another then nodded in agreement. They continued to speak in Haltunga as they addressed the Protean, "identify yourself." They lifted their head a little and looked to the direction of the one that addressed them. This was it, the time to tell the truth or continue to lie. "We are Varthakh, the successor of Fridgar Calder, Hound of the Jeger."
Upset stirred among them and some of them drew weapons. "Hold!" Shouted the pack master, and the men stayed their weapons. "What do you mean by 'Successor', Lizard?" he asked. Varthakh paused, then drew a steady breath through their nose. "He was slain in battle; we carry his legacy."
The Packmaster seemed distraught, the tension in his form was obvious with their keen senses. "We would speak with Ganren," they said then, "we would," they added in a whisper. The Packmaster paused again, then lowered his hand with an audible growl. "Take his bag," came their order. Fridgar's whole form tensed then. All their totems were in their bag. They couldn't let them go, not again. "You can't," the spoke loudly. The Packmaster looked back to them, irate.
"We can't be separated from them, please..." they pleaded. The Packmaster managed to stay his aggression at the plea and lifted his hand to stop the approaching Jeger. "Who's 'them'?" he asked. "My totems," Varthakh explained, "We've lost too many... We have."
"Totems? You're a becomer? A..."
"Protean," Varthakh finished. The men seemed unsure then, and they looked to their leader. Fridgar had been the only Protean in the Jeger, and they were the renowned battle lurker that they armed to strike back against the Giants. "And the hound... What was your relation to him?" They asked with suspicion. Varthakh exhaled then and parted their lips to speak; "he was us, one of our beloved totems."
At once, the Packmaster glared, then crossed his arms. "So, you're Fridgar? Prove it. Show us the Lurker." With that, Fridgar nodded. Some of the Jeger moved away in caution before Fridgar let Reiner loose. At once, he manifested over their form and grew them massively. They took a height near enough to forty feet tall with a body that was wrapped in rippling muscle, a mane of platinum hair and long flowing horns that rested above grew from their head. Their black and red eyes looked down at the Jeger as they marveled upward at them. They had become Reiner, their Lurker of the Plains.
