• Completed • Fur de Rads

[Mastemyr]

Cylus 10th 719

He could smell them a mile off.

Mastemyr craned his neck and took a deep inhale of the fractured wind, pupils dilating while a smile crept across his face, “Bad rads, yah.” He licked his lips, eager for the taste of blood and continued up the dirt path, purring as he drew closer to his intended location. He walked carefully, using wide steps to avoid stomping on the felines that weaved between his long legs. From where he was, he could see the Yari mercenaries standing guard over the shipments, laughing about something particularly delightful.

“Afa’noon,” One man looked up and watched him as he approached; he eyed his face, the other, a woman, peered at the lion heart shield resting on his back. He waved and closed the distance between them, “I’m ere fur work.”

The woman spoke first, “Mad cat. Tink dart shield sarve yar?”

He grinned, appraising the number of scars that disappeared beneath the cloth of her leather breastplate. She had pretty, dark eyes, “Marbe. Don need it tardar tho.”

“No?” she took a step forward, fingers tapping the hilt of her mace, “Tarkin it off?”

“Marbe. But I’m ere fur da rads,” he looked at the ships that bobbed on the port, "Erd dar guild fest'al morrow. De queen in?" his gold eyes bounced back and forth between the two, the cats that had followed him here spreading out, ready to slip in among the trade goods. The Yardrae cats vanished first, appearing randomly across the shadows among the cargo, a few of the cats made of flesh were scattered when the man stepped forward, swinging his giant hammer and resting it across his shoulders.

Mastemyr took in a few more deeper breaths, attention roaming to the skies and the clouds that swirled across the Cylus moons. The wind blew and he shrugged away a shudder.

"Wairt hur."

The man turned and headed towards a massive ship docked and bobbing softly across the waves. It was large, well kept and smelled like foreign spices. Mixed with the scent of fish and salt water, it was a strange brew on the air. He didn't hate it. He leaned his head back and yawned, reaching skyward to stretch out his long limbs. The pleasant draw of exertion pulled at his muscles and he began rolling his shoulders, going to lean against one of the barrels. When he knocked on it, it resonated with a low thud - sounded like water. More than likely, liquor or fermented milk. He imagined faces of men he had never met, prying open up such a delight and smiled to himself.

The female guard came forward to stand by him, shifting the glaive in her hand with a slight flourish so that she could use it to lean against. A fluttering movement followed and his attention snapped to the side, his fingers reaching out to swat at the ribbons that dangled from her handle. He blinked, noticing the color, "You want children." It was a both question and statement. Their eyes met and she did not look away. Instinct understood it as a challenge, and after a drawn out silence, she spoke:

"You ever come to the fighting pit?"

Ha. Now that was a fun question and it caused him to smirk, "When de mood strikes."

She looked at his shield again, then to his face, "I dorn't erver see yar down d'ere. Marbe somewurne shard strike thar mood arnto yar."

The mortal born roared in laughter, flattered by the advances, "Whart yar narme?"

"Pharana."

Mastemyr appraised her some more and allowed her to do so as well. He had no ribbons on his weapon, hardly thought the need, although he liked to see the colors others displayed. He knew the choice of a shield as a primary was uncommon, but he liked its weight. Footsteps approached the side of the ship and he looked up and into the sun to see the silhouette of a strong woman decked in lavish fabrics and at least six weapons tucked into the folds. She had a wrap around her hair and looked down at him. He could not see her expression.

The queen lifted a hand and waved him on board, "Good day, Mad Cat." Her common was clear, easy to understand and she pulled back from the railing, "I hope you ready to work."

The Mortalborn gave one last look at his new acquaintance and knocked on one of the shipments as he walked by. The cats lurking around lifted their head and sensed his departure, following after. Mastemyr gave a wave over his shoulder at the guards. He'd have to check out the fighting ring soon - Pharana seemed nice.

[Mastemyr]

“I was surprised to receive your letter. I had heard of you - of the ageless mad man whom the cats chased,” the merchant queen lead them onto the deck of her vessel, and to a door leading underneath. The smell was getting stronger - rat feces and urine mixed with sweat and liquor, “You could not have come at a better time.”

“Thart so?”

He ducked a bit to avoid the wooden beam as they descended, the sound of her clothing swishing against the cabin walls as she moved easily in the darkening space. The floorboards groaned and he thought he heard the silencing of little squeaks the deeper they went, past the sleeping quarters, stopping before the storage rig, “These little bastards eat through half my goods by the time I reach port, and my men wake up with bites. If I’m lucky, they don’t get sick. If I’m not - I lose good hands. We have to unload the moment we dock, and then I have my money just sitting around, you understand, don’t you?” she turned around, back straightening as she looked into the glowing eyes of the Mortalborn, closer than she had been expecting.

He nodded, already undoing the buckle of his pants, “Kill de rads, help de queen.”

Mastemyr changed direction, loosely gripped the straps of his shield, reaching over his shoulder and yanking the fabric of his shirt up and forward. He grimaced, the muscle of his shoulder irritating an old wound but he smiled as his scars were revealed. They decorated his skin, some a collection of silver lines, others puckered and jagged. A tom cat to some. A king in his own right.

Other eyes began appearing in the darkest recesses of the room, cats slowly joining them, and he could feel her watching him. He smiled with sharp teeth, “Yar’ll see.”

He caught scent of her perfume and his eyes dilated. Mastemyr reached out against reason, hooking his hand around the back of her neck, his skin changing to the color of smoke. He leaned forward, wanting just a taste of her skin and thinking of Pharana, but before his lips could make contact with her throat, she pressed the blade against his belly, “You’re about to have a very bad day, Mad Cat,”

He vibrated, releasing the pain in his fingers, the pads of his hands roughening, claws elongating to scrap the side of her neck, “Ooright,” he purred, “Pairment arfter.” Sex and blood lust was his favorite combination, and he pulled back, stepping behind a large crate. He looked to the corner for his prey, and then disappeared behind it. His pants slid to the ground, and Mastemyr grit his teeth as bones began to break and sinew shifted across the new form.

A growl rolled outward and his form compacted. When it was over he stood with his legs apart, weak but recovering. Mastemyr labored his breath and gauged the leap. Upwards he propelled into the air, landing on the coverage without a sound and looked at the Merchant Queen. Her eyes were bright with surprise, but she met him with a steady look - weapon raised higher. He sat back on his haunches and she took a tentative step forward, finger running over his new coat - He was a bobcat, dappled in black and grey. He allowed her touch for a moment and then stretched, adjusting to his new body.

“Kill the rats,” she repeated, clearly fascinated by this new change, “Then… we’ll discuss payment.”

He licked his lips and she began back up the stairs. The latch snapped closed behind her and all the cats began to slink around the ship. The thrill of the hunt made up for the ache in his bones, and Mastemyr joined them.

[Mastemyr]

With the doors shut, they shouldn’t have had anywhere to run. No doubt many lurked in other rooms, perhaps in the bags of sailor possessions, or under bunks. It had grown silent - the rats were hiding. Waiting. But he would find them. He would eat them. Mastemyr dropped to the ground, pain of his transformation shocking his body and he tried to move to ease the discomfort. His short tail swished briefly and he lowered in a crouch, belly poised close to the ground as he eyed the shadows. Time passed painfully slow and he could feel the impatience of the Yardrae cats around him. They pressed into the shadows. The few physical cats struggled to contain their excitement, ears rotating back as they followed his lead.

Then he heard them. The slithering of a tail. A squeak. He honed in on the sound, his eyes landing on a crate in the far corner. The sounds of their nails scraping the ground. He began to creep forward, taking a few steps, stopping. Listening. The other cats followed, spreading out into their own corners. Some took to higher ground for the vantage point. Mastemyr kept low, wanting to look them in the eye when he pounced.

His rat moved, thinking it safe. Mastemyr shifted so that his body was hidden against the wood - a human’s reasoning, and saw the creature’s head begin to peek around the corner. It’s nose lifted, whisker’s twitching. No doubt the thing could smell something amiss. But rats were greedy, and he saw it creep forward towards a stack of straw. Before it could disappear beneath it’s cover, Mastemyr leapt, leaning upon his hind legs and using the momentum to project himself forward. He landed quickly, and pinned it beneath his paw. Down his jaw came to crush into the neck of the vermin, hot blood shooting against the roof of his mouth and dripping from his maw. He gave a shake of his head, feeling the now limp body swing side to side and he dropped it, just as other rats began to scatter from their nest.

They might not have recognized his smell, but they understood blood. It became a frenzy, most darting away, one or two screeching as they charged and tried to bite him. He reeled back, but not in fear. A gargling hiss resounded and the war began. Cats began descending from their hunter’s perch and he unleashed a wicked swipe that cut into one of the rats and gutted it, sending the remains smacking against the wall. He felt sharp teeth clamp down on his forearm and he bit off its owner’s tail, spurred by its sound of agony from the rodent.

Mastemyr chased it, kicking up straw as his bloody maw searched for more victims to claim. He snapped, hissed and swiped. More rats cried as his company caught them, and when he came upon babies - he spared no life. He chomped their skulls, ending their lives before they could really begin. He impaled them, and dropped them in the same piles as their parents, loving the fear. It was… delicious.

An absolute massacre.

Some tried to run up the walls, jump out of his range and he had to leap, spine twisting, sometimes missing his target, more times than naught landing on his feet with a new dessert. Each kill added to his goal. How many shall I kill? Who dares challenge me?

The pile grew, reminding him of his season of potasquitos and his stomach growled. The cats flanked a nest, and it seemed the swarm would overtake him. More rats scattered, a few biting back. One caught him on the shoulder and hung from his fur, teeth deep into his deltoid. He hissed and twisted, jaws snapping in hopes to catch it between his teeth as other challengers charged. He swatted them away, finally catching his perpetrator by the spine and breaking it.

The rats were big, bigger than those that had been in Viden. These had been well fed and for awhile. Food that belonged to the starving Yari. He could see where holes had been gnawed away in the stores and thought of what that had meant to the crew - the people who would die from limited food and disease.

He killed, and he killed with vigor.

The corpses continued to pile up.

[Alistair]

Mastemyr

Knowledges
Hunting: Identifying a Rat's Nest
Hunting: Take Advantage of Prey Psychology
Hunting: Hunt with a Pride
Hunting: Don't Spare the Young
Stealth: Use Your Surroundings for Cover
Stealth: Wait until Things Quiet Down
Fauna: Yaralon Rats
Yaralon Culture: Merchant Kings/Queens
Yaralon Culture: Unarmed Combat is Sexy

Loot: Will leave the assignment of WP up to the mod approving the wage request.
Injuries: A few bites that may become infected unless treated with considerable antiseptic.
Renown: +10

Points 10

Comments: "Unarmed Combat is Sexy" mfw
Great thread; beautiful writing and detail. I always love how your threads are extremely unique and tailored to the character, and paint for a highly immersive picture. Also, I love your template - it's gorgeous!

Enjoy your rewards.

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