35th Trial of Season, Arc 718
Signing
"Signing while speaking"
"Speaking"
He stared at it, now, from across the small river.
It stood.
A creature - nearly as tall as Quiet, but likely an adolescent - wrapped in loose, leathery skin, walking the earth on four, stubby legs, each adorned with claws as long as a finger.
When Quiet had found it, it had been drinking from the river that ran between them, its legs shaking and desperate for sustenance.
SInce his approach, the two had been locked in visual contact, neither of which being so bold as to make the first move, which Quiet was certain would lead to conflict between the two entities.
He had run over multiple lines of possibility in his head.
He couldn’t go back to his compatriots - or Anya. They were too far. What had first been a walk through foreign woods had turned to confusion, a loss of direction, and now, danger.
If he ran at it first, he would allow the creature an attack of opportunity. And, judging from the amount of vegetation nearby, he was nearly certain that the lizard was not herbivorous. Or, not entirely. It either had an extreme distaste for vegetation, or it had a heavy preference for something a bit more red. Quiet would be fighting for protection. The beast would be fighting for food.
Quiet trusted the beast to fight harder.
He noted the elements around him.
The air - forever at his back - waited on his action, as he waited on its. The flow was subtle, mostly still. Anticipating.
The earth beneath him had never much listened to his call, and Quiet had never much learned to hear its voice. He couldn’t rely on it to come to his aid - not yet.
The river before him ran fast, and rapid. Much like the earth, he had never learned to distinguish its voice, but the way the water moved and spoke was not entirely foreign to Quiet. Its rhythm mimicked the freedom of the air, and its ebb and flow mimicked the dance of a flame. If all else failed, Quiet would rely on the water.
Finally, the flame. Not apparently present, no, but Quiet had learned from his companion Anya to never count it out. In the hand which did not grasp his quarterstaff, his fingers remained at the ready to summon fire. He wasn’t sure what precisely he would utilize the light for, but its utility was endless. He judged by a preliminary viewing of the beast that its ranged capabilities were somewhat limited. He identified that - were it to attack - its primary assets would be its tail, its bite, and, most notably, its claws.
Quiet looked at it with trepidation.
It looked at Quiet with hunger.
A kind of hunger Quiet was unfamiliar with. The kind of hunger that demanded to be felt. The kind of hunger that signified personal expiration if not adhered to.
Quiet could tell that this creature was dying. It was too young to survive long without food, and the cold weather was taking a toll on its reptilian blood.
It would die if it did not consume Quiet.
And Quiet would have to kill it to stop it from consuming him.
It placed a clawed foot in the water, testing temperature. Quiet felt the river running cold from where he stood, and, if he focused, could feel the disturbance that the foot caused in the running stream.
He readied his staff in response, assuming a defensive position, gripping it with both hands, pointed towards the beast.
There was another moment of pause, with the great lizard standing in the water, and Quiet prepared for combat.
Like a brick hitting the ground, the great lizard lunged.
Quiet, with the wind enthusiastically pushing him upwards and supporting his leap over the beast, flipped over completely, his eyes never leaving contact with the great leathery animal, landing in the brook, the water pushing against his ankles as he stood in its path.
He stared at the beast as it turned to him, glaring at him with eyes that desired only for survival, and Quiet found himself pitying the creature. A being whose circumstances had prevented it, likely uncontrollably, from living a life like those of its kind. A being whose only want was to survive.
He didn’t want to kill it. He didn’t want to hurt it.
His heart hurt for it. For the unimaginable possibility of Quiet ever feeling as it felt.
It lunged at him with its left claw, which Quiet blocked with his quarterstaff, allowing the curves of the claws to hook around the pole, holding it away from his body.
It hissed.
Quiet winced.
It made a move with its head, its jaw snapping at Quiet’s torso, and Quiet barely avoiding the jaws of the beast by jumping backwards.
The air couldn’t help him here. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t call it without beckoning it.
So he did something desperate.
He pulled his fist back, calling on the water for assistance. To his surprise, it did as he wished, and he thanked the river quietly. He asked for it to cover the beast up to its neck, which it did, coating the lizard in a thin film of water. He then pulled his fist back, begging that water to freeze around it, so that Quiet may escape without needing harm the beast.
But it did not.
Instead the water dropped back to the river.
And Quiet had a sharp reminder that he had not cared to learn its language. That the water’s movements and its desires escaped him.
And he could not escape the lizard.
With its other claw, it wound up, sinking its nails into the flesh of Quiet’s thigh, dragging downwards to cause a moderately deep injury. The claws then held onto his body, latched within him.
And Quiet screamed.
He dropped to his knees, bringing the lizard down with him. The river splashed over the tops of his thighs, tingeing him slightly with a cold that would have been far greater if he had not been able to utilize The Gift.
The pain was immense.
But, as the situation always seemed to demand when Quiet got injured, he had no room to properly react. The situation at hand required attention, or injuries worse would occur. And Quietly silently wished that once, just once, he could simply twist his ankle without some form of wildlife or demon attempting to consume or murder him.
The beast lunged, and Quiet, who let go of his quarterstaff, allowing the current to push it against his right leg, grabbed the beast’s skull with both hands.
It was a battle of strength. Keeping the creature from entering biting distance of Quiet’s face.
It was a contest that Quiet would lose if it carried on.
His heart broke for what he had to do.
He gritted his teeth, fighting through the pain in his thigh, as well as his aching biceps, to keep the beast at bay. He fought through his broken morality, pained by the decision he apparently had to make.
He summoned flames in his palms, placed against the beast’s cranium.
It felt heat, and Quiet felt it writhe. But it pressed forward, its jaw snapping, pushing towards Quiet with greater vivacity. Quiet yelled, voicing his pain and frustration, as his focus allowed for greater heat. He pressed harder against its skull, and it seemed to give up in its efforts to consume Quiet, in extreme discomfort.
It tried to escape, but Quiet’s grip was taut, so when it attempted to pull its claws loose from Quiet’s thigh, Quiet erupted in pain.
Fire feeds on three emotional influences, in Quiet’s experience.
Passion.
Strength.
And pain.
And Quiet was in a lot of pain.
The fire in his palms burned hot. Hot enough to cause that beast to fall, limp, in the water.
Quiet released his grip, realizing the consequence of his actions. He sat, motionless, his blood trickling lightly in the water, claws still in his wound, with the corpse of an unfortunate beast, undeserving of its fate.
Quiet never wanted this.
He never meant to make it happen.
With both hands, and a heavy heart, he picked the mass of its body up, laying it gently on his lap, wincing as the claws pulled slightly on his thigh.
He grabbed his quarterstaff, holding it above its body, resting it in his palms.
He didn’t know what else to do. His companions were too far to travel with his wound. And, even if he could walk, the weight of his guilt would nearly certainly weigh him down vastly.
He didn’t know what else to do.
So, with shaky breath, and bloodied water, Quiet meditated.
Signing
"Signing while speaking"
"Speaking"
He stared at it, now, from across the small river.
It stood.
A creature - nearly as tall as Quiet, but likely an adolescent - wrapped in loose, leathery skin, walking the earth on four, stubby legs, each adorned with claws as long as a finger.
When Quiet had found it, it had been drinking from the river that ran between them, its legs shaking and desperate for sustenance.
SInce his approach, the two had been locked in visual contact, neither of which being so bold as to make the first move, which Quiet was certain would lead to conflict between the two entities.
He had run over multiple lines of possibility in his head.
He couldn’t go back to his compatriots - or Anya. They were too far. What had first been a walk through foreign woods had turned to confusion, a loss of direction, and now, danger.
If he ran at it first, he would allow the creature an attack of opportunity. And, judging from the amount of vegetation nearby, he was nearly certain that the lizard was not herbivorous. Or, not entirely. It either had an extreme distaste for vegetation, or it had a heavy preference for something a bit more red. Quiet would be fighting for protection. The beast would be fighting for food.
Quiet trusted the beast to fight harder.
He noted the elements around him.
The air - forever at his back - waited on his action, as he waited on its. The flow was subtle, mostly still. Anticipating.
The earth beneath him had never much listened to his call, and Quiet had never much learned to hear its voice. He couldn’t rely on it to come to his aid - not yet.
The river before him ran fast, and rapid. Much like the earth, he had never learned to distinguish its voice, but the way the water moved and spoke was not entirely foreign to Quiet. Its rhythm mimicked the freedom of the air, and its ebb and flow mimicked the dance of a flame. If all else failed, Quiet would rely on the water.
Finally, the flame. Not apparently present, no, but Quiet had learned from his companion Anya to never count it out. In the hand which did not grasp his quarterstaff, his fingers remained at the ready to summon fire. He wasn’t sure what precisely he would utilize the light for, but its utility was endless. He judged by a preliminary viewing of the beast that its ranged capabilities were somewhat limited. He identified that - were it to attack - its primary assets would be its tail, its bite, and, most notably, its claws.
Quiet looked at it with trepidation.
It looked at Quiet with hunger.
A kind of hunger Quiet was unfamiliar with. The kind of hunger that demanded to be felt. The kind of hunger that signified personal expiration if not adhered to.
Quiet could tell that this creature was dying. It was too young to survive long without food, and the cold weather was taking a toll on its reptilian blood.
It would die if it did not consume Quiet.
And Quiet would have to kill it to stop it from consuming him.
It placed a clawed foot in the water, testing temperature. Quiet felt the river running cold from where he stood, and, if he focused, could feel the disturbance that the foot caused in the running stream.
He readied his staff in response, assuming a defensive position, gripping it with both hands, pointed towards the beast.
There was another moment of pause, with the great lizard standing in the water, and Quiet prepared for combat.
Like a brick hitting the ground, the great lizard lunged.
Quiet, with the wind enthusiastically pushing him upwards and supporting his leap over the beast, flipped over completely, his eyes never leaving contact with the great leathery animal, landing in the brook, the water pushing against his ankles as he stood in its path.
He stared at the beast as it turned to him, glaring at him with eyes that desired only for survival, and Quiet found himself pitying the creature. A being whose circumstances had prevented it, likely uncontrollably, from living a life like those of its kind. A being whose only want was to survive.
He didn’t want to kill it. He didn’t want to hurt it.
His heart hurt for it. For the unimaginable possibility of Quiet ever feeling as it felt.
It lunged at him with its left claw, which Quiet blocked with his quarterstaff, allowing the curves of the claws to hook around the pole, holding it away from his body.
It hissed.
Quiet winced.
It made a move with its head, its jaw snapping at Quiet’s torso, and Quiet barely avoiding the jaws of the beast by jumping backwards.
The air couldn’t help him here. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t call it without beckoning it.
So he did something desperate.
He pulled his fist back, calling on the water for assistance. To his surprise, it did as he wished, and he thanked the river quietly. He asked for it to cover the beast up to its neck, which it did, coating the lizard in a thin film of water. He then pulled his fist back, begging that water to freeze around it, so that Quiet may escape without needing harm the beast.
But it did not.
Instead the water dropped back to the river.
And Quiet had a sharp reminder that he had not cared to learn its language. That the water’s movements and its desires escaped him.
And he could not escape the lizard.
With its other claw, it wound up, sinking its nails into the flesh of Quiet’s thigh, dragging downwards to cause a moderately deep injury. The claws then held onto his body, latched within him.
And Quiet screamed.
He dropped to his knees, bringing the lizard down with him. The river splashed over the tops of his thighs, tingeing him slightly with a cold that would have been far greater if he had not been able to utilize The Gift.
The pain was immense.
But, as the situation always seemed to demand when Quiet got injured, he had no room to properly react. The situation at hand required attention, or injuries worse would occur. And Quietly silently wished that once, just once, he could simply twist his ankle without some form of wildlife or demon attempting to consume or murder him.
The beast lunged, and Quiet, who let go of his quarterstaff, allowing the current to push it against his right leg, grabbed the beast’s skull with both hands.
It was a battle of strength. Keeping the creature from entering biting distance of Quiet’s face.
It was a contest that Quiet would lose if it carried on.
His heart broke for what he had to do.
He gritted his teeth, fighting through the pain in his thigh, as well as his aching biceps, to keep the beast at bay. He fought through his broken morality, pained by the decision he apparently had to make.
He summoned flames in his palms, placed against the beast’s cranium.
It felt heat, and Quiet felt it writhe. But it pressed forward, its jaw snapping, pushing towards Quiet with greater vivacity. Quiet yelled, voicing his pain and frustration, as his focus allowed for greater heat. He pressed harder against its skull, and it seemed to give up in its efforts to consume Quiet, in extreme discomfort.
It tried to escape, but Quiet’s grip was taut, so when it attempted to pull its claws loose from Quiet’s thigh, Quiet erupted in pain.
Fire feeds on three emotional influences, in Quiet’s experience.
Passion.
Strength.
And pain.
And Quiet was in a lot of pain.
The fire in his palms burned hot. Hot enough to cause that beast to fall, limp, in the water.
Quiet released his grip, realizing the consequence of his actions. He sat, motionless, his blood trickling lightly in the water, claws still in his wound, with the corpse of an unfortunate beast, undeserving of its fate.
Quiet never wanted this.
He never meant to make it happen.
With both hands, and a heavy heart, he picked the mass of its body up, laying it gently on his lap, wincing as the claws pulled slightly on his thigh.
He grabbed his quarterstaff, holding it above its body, resting it in his palms.
He didn’t know what else to do. His companions were too far to travel with his wound. And, even if he could walk, the weight of his guilt would nearly certainly weigh him down vastly.
He didn’t know what else to do.
So, with shaky breath, and bloodied water, Quiet meditated.
