• Graded • His Guidance

[Mal]

Ashan 119th, 717

There was something serene about the way nature spoke to him now, how he could not think to marvel at it in the logical way one could with language. He could not speak, he could not think the words. He only had intention, but what little capacity he had for reason served him well.

However, even in the swelling moonlight of that smiling crescent glaring down upon him with that venomous, omnipresent smile, he stalked the forests surrounding Etzos for prey. Therapeutic, it was, to fall into the throes of the natural order of things. To embrace the hunt, to embrace Karem’s teachings.
Karem... it was the first articulated thought he’d had in a couple of trials, and for some reason he could think her name.
Karem. Ghhhrhghhsss...

Stepping through the forest on two legs, his severely mutated body felt strange, as if on pins and needles all the time. Three Trials prior he’d overstepped to acquire the totem now dangling around his neck on a piece of string with his others, an Ardor he’d slain, though he knew not what the bird was called. The price he’d paid was dear--his mind, he couldn’t -think- with words anymore. All he had was instinct, compassion, fury, sadness... the images in his mind.

And then, far in the distance, he heard the march of boots to soil. His ears flickered, cupping themselves towards the disturbance as midnight fur bristled where it was present, the sleeves of his Etzori scout uniform ripped away from overuse. He only knew that pounding of so many boots could mean no good, and so he stalked the woods, growing closer.

Then he heard yelling, he saw the torchlight winking in and out between the trees. A sound of metal crunching cracked through the woods, followed by a flash of light and the screech of shattering glass. Domain magic seemed to be afoot, and Mal felt it in his bones. This made him more weary, who were these hunters he hunted hunting?

Suddenly the ripple of an explosion sounded near to him, and Mal hissed at a figure clad in girdled robes fell forward from a portal with a fierce stare. Their eyes met, he saw the uniform, and then the man raised his palm. A glowing orb of light shone brightly in his feline eyes, forcing the feline-Hyx hybrid of a Becomer to turn his head away, only for something shocking to crash into his frame a moment later. A deep, unsettling chill followed, and he was still reeling by the time those boots crashed closer.

“The hell is that?” one of the soldiers bellowed.
”I think it’s one of ours, the uniform--!”

Mal’s claws extended, and he let forth from his lungs a seething yowl of hatred as his eyes adjusted.
”Hrrraggooohhhhkkh!” The piercing shriek frightened the men, who raised their swords defensively.
”If ‘e’s one of ‘ours ‘e ain’t damn showin’ it!”
”It’s out of control!” another man ran up, but the wizard that attacked the Becomer was now long gone.

Mal felt the presence of his Ardor totem and began to react by drawing from it. Large wings sprouted from his arms, feathers of a lightweight steel material rippling out like threatening knives. His fur turned gray all over, the hairs becoming a durable steel downy material. A piercing headache followed, but it only made him angry.
”Rakhsss!”

The air swirled to ripple their uniforms as he swiped his winged arms out, those dangerous feathers extending at a sword. Sparks of orange flitted in the darkness as his strike knocked away the blade, and a soldier swung at him, but all it took was throwing his shoulder back to block the blade against his shield of feathers. A quick slash of his arm cut deep into the back of his neck, these lightly-armored scouts outclassed.

One man down in a bloody heap, he was quick to turn with a hiss, that long, thick tail curling to give him balance as he pushed against the grown with his bare, clawed feet. The Becomer took to the air, swinging his wings down to push himself higher. Then he let his form sway in the wind, gravity taking hold as he rolled forward and extended those massive wings towards their heads.

One of the men was quick enough to block, and a flurry of that fiery soul steel on steel came to bear. He fell over at the force of the blow, but the other man wasn’t so lucky. The wing-tip split his face open, Mal landing behind in a moment to stab his feathers at the man’s back. They pierced through the leather fabric almost effortlessly, forcing a gurgle out of his lungs.

Retracting his wings, he was quick to swing at the man who had only just begun to get to his feet, but a hiss of flame struck his wings aside with a clang. His head spun around, and he felt a chill run down his spine when he saw a cloaked figure approaching out of the woods, that all-too-familiar mask of bone unsettling him.

Sar’khar. The Defier. Caster of the Etzori. He who taunted him nearly an Arc ago as he marched to war, he who tried to force him into taking onto his soul another Spark. Mal’s mind reveled in the thought of revenge.

Before he could finish off the other man with another swing, a ball of flame materialized out of thin air and struck at him like a lance. He took the heated warmth to his wings and felt a slight burn, and the fire dropped to the ground and coiled as a snake in front of him.
”So we meet again, Mal? We meet again. Have you no respect? No respect? Tsk, tsk, tsk.”

‘Neath the wings, Mal’s paws clenched into fists and he shot the wicked Etzori Caster a glare of pure malice with those eyes of glowing amber reflecting in the flame and moonlight.
”Hgahrlll!”

What was meant to be a tool for flight pummeled the air, and the gust that followed blew the flame out like a candle. The next thing he did, without looking, was extend his arm out with frightening precision to drive the daggers of his wing straight into the chest of the recovering Mark before Sar'kahr could aid him further. The man yelped and howled the sound of his death until his lungs could no longer function. Tugging the feathers out, Mal let them drip with blood, stepping off behind a tree, where he dug his claws in and pulled himself high up into the branches and perched to look down at the other wizard with a predatory glare.

The true reason for this was not for any tactical advantage, but rather his mind was pulsing with a terrible ache. For the last few dozen Trials he’d been using his Becoming abilities to their limit and beyond, and so he never had the ether to make these changes readily available. He needed a moment to decide on how to approach this prey, but he was confident he could succeed.

[Noth]

Noth was far less bestial than the animals roaming the lands, but he too could understand nature in his own way. The serenity that swallowed up the entirety of the forest, that filled it with birdsong and the quiet rustling of squirrels and hares maneuvering themselves to and fro was something pleasant to the twilight hybrid. When such peace was broken, the hunter knew that other more malicious forces stalked the forests with him, and whilst typically he attempted to avoid any unwanted struggles with the predators of the woods, this time was somewhat different.

There were screams. Human screams. The yells and cries of people struggling against something fierce in the underbrush, the silence that followed was exquisite and rare. Curiosity got the best of him, and the latent desire to obtain more loot gave haste to an otherwise calm composure. His hauberk clinked harshly as he thrust through the underbrush, pinpointing the noise through use of his refined senses. The mace at his side dangled precariously against his leg, making soft impact with it every other step, and a steady hand began to draw forth an arrow from its resting place, allowing it to settle upon the string of his longbow. Though many trials had passed since its loss, he was relieved to once more have it in his possession, and that relief translated into an eagerness to hunt whatever plagued the locals.

He peaked from behind a set of underbrush an instant before a residual rush of flame blasted against it. Instinctively, he jerked his head to the side, attempting to avoid the scalding fate, but just as quickly as the explosive fire had appeared, it was extinguished. Gentle smoldering smoke poured off of the nearby flora, and the hybrid returned to his position of observance, questioning what manner of creature could shoot fire from itself, or why anyone would attempt to use flames in a forest. Surely they understood the danger that could be caused to the city should a wild fire begin to burn?

Familiarity with the substance made blood incredibly easy to detect by the Avriel, and the pungent iron odor stung his nose fiercely as his eyes settled upon the fallen bodies nearby. Multiple bodies were lain about the place, blood still leaking from vicious cuts as warmth gradually left their cheeks. The insignias plastered upon their equipment and their general demeanor identified them readily as wilderness scouts. They likely had some experience with the local fauna in their explorations and patrols, but there was little doubting that the ferocious monstrosity they faced was nothing natural. It seemed more akin to an abomination than anything else, and great wings which glinted a steely shade jutted outwards from its bipedal form. Were it not for the gargling noises it created in imitation of speech, it might have been mistaken as an Avriel, but certainly that proud lineage would never allow such an absolute abhorrence to exist.

There was an inherent compulsion ingrained within the prospect of sentience which urged the Avriel to band together with the last surviving member of the band. Surely, their chances of survival were increased if they worked with one another, but then, if they did survive the encounter, his own chances of defeating the Rupturer would be greatly hindered. No, he would not interfere in this match between the two forces, but instead simply watch and wait for an opportunity to strike. His greatest option for maximized success was simply to allow the two powerhouses to batter one another into submission, and then to dive in upon the wounded and weak, after all, was that not the way of carrion birds?

He was a vulture hungry for silver and gold, for steel and iron, and so he would allow the pair to spill blood upon stone and to give the grass a drink of macabre substance.

[Mal]

The raging flames gave no time to perceive that skulking onlooker, and indeed Mal had no idea of Noth’s presence, nor his intentions. In fact, Sar’kahr refused to allow Mal a moment of respite, cackling sadistically from behind that mask of his before he hissed through closed teeth.
“Ssssss...”
”Hawghrl!” Mal roared as the flames began climbing the tree, breathing hard and climbing higher to escape the flame.

Knowing his assailant would burn through the fuel, so-to-speak, he waited until the fire was eating away at the branches beneath before hopping out into the smoky air, a shadowy blob overhead disappearing into a hazy inferno.

His paws struck the burning embers of a smoldering pit of ash, and no sooner did he duck and tumble that a snake of flame burst from the dusty remnants and dug its charry fangs into his ankle, latching on even though it didn’t quite break the skin. He grabbed it with his hand and howled as the flames burned his hand, tossing it aside and hobbling through the scarred meadow as Sar’kahr laughed behind him.
”Give up, you wild dog! Give up!”

One clear thought made its way through Mal’s mind, and fear found no place in his heart when fury was burning so hot.
Never.

Turning with a grunt, the Becomer spread his massive, powerful wings wide. Untainted, as they were, each glorious metallic feather gathered up the air and tossed it forth in a roiling gale. The flurry sent ash billowing everywhere, Sar’kahr’s flames bending backwards as the choking substance drowned them. Much prettier feathers than Noth's, they gleamed in the din of the burning forest.

Sar’kahr shielded his eyes, inhaling some of the fine powder. He started hacking and choking, beating his chest.
”Curse you! Hgchkuk-kuk,kugh! Curse you, Shapeshifter!” the man spouted.

Mal took advantage. He ran through the settling dusts, his clawed feet smacking into the soft, stinging ash as flames began their rise around him. Sar’kahr held up his hands, and metallic claws met a steel fist, sparks lacing the air. Only, those bits of flaming light did not die as they were born, and Sar’kahr willed them into billowing sprites which soared towards Mal’s eyes, searing his face.
”Hagh!” Mal swung his hand out blindly, nicking the metal-skinned man in the shoulder.

A heavy fist came forth. Mal couldn’t see it, he couldn’t catch it in time. Mal’s body was swept sideways and off his feet by the blow, hitting the soft dirt hard on his chest. The animal-man wheezed and scraped at the roots, only to have a heavy boot slam into his back between his crumpled wings and hold him there, the terrifying, vile man leaning over him with a twisted look in his eyes which seemed to glow like fire.
”This is the end, Mal. This is the end. Allow me to snuff you out, you candle with no wick.”

[Noth]

Observing the battle allowed the hybrid to notice little details throughout the fight that might have been missed were he thrust into the battle. He could see the heaving of chests as both combatants danced around one another, hurling flames, or charging forward with terrible power. He could see the pain that flashed into eyes whenever a successful blow was landed on the part of either combatant. Perhaps most important, however, Noth could quite clearly see the weaknesses in both participants. Crimson eyes analyzed every movement for an attempt at understanding how he might best whoever survived the encounter, and gradually he began to question whether he ought to wait until the end at all. After all, it would be easier to steal the loot once both parties were dead, but allies were few and far between, and the twilight hybrid could certainly use assistance in later endeavors.

Both combatants were quite talented with their assorted forms of battle, and the hybrid quickly found himself captivated as he observed. The more humanoid of the pair was capable of twisting and turning the element of fire as though it were attached to him, and he created a grand snake of the burning substance which he used to assail his opponent. His opponent on the other hand was far more bestial, and he quickly unveiled a set of wings that struck a chord of envy in the soul of the twilight hybrid. They glistened and glimmered as though they were composed of metal, though it seemed ridiculously inefficient to have wings of metal since they would be unable to fly properly. Nonetheless, there were birds throughout Idalos which possessed wings and yet could not fly, and it became evident quite quickly that the shapeshifter was emulating one of their ilk.

Despite the perceived inability to fly with such massively heavy constructs, the hybrid had observed the beast hurling itself into the air with them, so it was quite possible that they allowed it to jump far higher than it otherwise might have been capable. There was the vaguest sense of kinship that wrapped around the hybrid’s heart as he considered his own inability to fly amidst the toiling winds of the sky. He too was able to propel himself upward with his wings, but he had been restricted even from gliding properly once he was in the air. Could it be that he and the monster before him held more in common?

Even with the metallic wings attached to his form, and the clearly powerful body which he inhabited, the shapeshifter was thrown off by a series of embers which struck him in the eyes, apparently burning at those sensitive organs. The man stomped onto the back of the beast, holding it in place there and speaking of ending its life. He seemed to strike an almost triumphant pose, and the hybrid suddenly realized that the battle was all but over for his fellow bird.

With rapid movements, the Avriel lifted his longbow upwards so that he could view the man as a target. He appeared to possess metallic hands, and thus it would be inefficient to aim for those limbs. Thankfully, it was a difficult target anyways, and so Noth had completely ignored the prospect of even aiming for the threatening limbs. Instead, he aimed for a far easier target, allowing the arrow to line up with the man’s hip. It was not a killing blow by any means, though it would be an incredibly painful one. His motivations were two-fold: One, to ensure the victory of the beast over his clearly more healthy foe, and Two to ensure that he would only have to fight an already wounded beast should that become his course of action.

The arrow whipped out from the darkness with the genteel tang of the longbow, whirling through the smoke-choked air as it passed through floating embers. If one listened for but a moment, they might have heard it whistle the direct instant before it sliced into the fellow’s right hip, landing somewhere just above the bone.

[Mal]

\With so much weight on his spine, he could only move his hips ever so little in the dirt, claws raking at the ground as he growled and weighed the thought of death and succumbing more to the Spark for the briefest of moments. The moment he tucked his head down and started to think about it, he heard a dull clank, and the weight on his back shifted.
There!

A harsh shriek of pretentious fury soured the ear.
”What lurks there!?”

This was Mal’s chance. That briefest of distractions was all he needed to throw his weight, dragging himself to his feet with a snarl as the cloaked figure’s garments billowed from his foot getting sent upward. Another moment revealed the metal body of the man... clearly hardly a man, with just enough seared flesh between his metal joints to constitute an existence as a living creature.

Crouching now, Mal roared into the air, his yowl akin to a panther bellowing its savage impulses at what might be prey. His hands came up betwixt those metal limbs, and he took his steel claws and and jammed them straight into the crease of Sar’kahr’s codpiece, hooking those sharp blades into the flesh as flames rippled to life all around.
”Gahk!” went the Etzori Caster as Mal squeezed, hopping on his one free leg as Mal held the other high in the air.

It appeared the Becomer literally had the man by the, err... balls, sort of. If Sar’kahr even had any. With a sharp huff of air, he tightened his muscles and retracted his clawed hand, ripping the panel free. A fine red mist sprayed into the air, coating the fur of the monster-man’s arm.

Not wanting to suffer Sar’kahr’s state of existence anymore, Mal drove the flaying, shrieking man to the ground and put his knee on the Defier’s torso as that inferno bit at his wings, snakes of flame emerging and hissing, biting and wrapping around. Hunching over, Mal’s jaw went wide, metal ivories flashing as he drove them deep into a vein, a metallic sound resounding as those neck plates were pierced and pried apart by powerful jaws.

That glowing ember of life within the mask’s eye sockets soon did dim, the body struggling ‘til it became naught but a corpse. Mal’s chest heaved, and his feral gaze swept over his shoulder to glare at those dissipating snakes. With a flex of his wings, the entire ensemble of living fire fell to ashes, and what fire remained he slowly rose and stepped out of, only then realizing his many wounds and burnt patches of skin as the euphoria of adrenaline faded away.

Turning his head to the moon, he roared in triumph.
”RRRAAAAGHHOOGH!”

Then his ears twitched. Amid the crackling sound, he heard a faint breath, quiet, but nearby. His head snapped to Noth’s direction, and his claws twitched, those rivulets of crimson streaming down to spatter into the ash. What fire remained illuminated half his form, showing fur matted in red, and charred patches of skin.
”Think,” was all he could say, after a long moment of sorting out his mind. The singular word carried a persuasive, harsh tone to it. It was a warning. But would this beast attack?

In the moment that followed he covered his wounds with one of those enormous, magnificent wings, only his eyes visible like eerie citrines, reflecting the light of the flame. He couldn’t quite see that figure, but he knew it was there, hiding. It was only unusual that he had not noticed Noth sooner. He didn't yet realize it was Noth who distracted Sar'kahr so fatally, and his current suspicions pointed strongly at the possibility of an Etzori.

But as his nares puffed at the air, he couldn't get a bead on what sort of scent the figure carried. All the smoke and the blood muddled everything, even though the man-in-hiding was upwind.

[Noth]

The arrow flew true to its target, but quickly revealed that the entities entire body had been converted to a steel-like substance. If the hybrid had decided long ago to hunt using a crossbow, then his foe would still have been skewered by the missile, but as it stood, the arrow simply crashed against his body, and snapped in twain. It was a shame really, because Noth didn’t possess all that many arrows, and so every arrow which was broken was one which could not easily be replaced.

Still, his lost seemed to be for good cause, because it provided the amalgamation time to heave against its foe, and to turn the proverbial tables against it. The savagery exhibited by the monstrosity was a sort familiar to the hybrid, the desperation that clings to the heart when life and death are separated only by a fine line. The Etzori caster had made a quite foolish mistake in that he had attempted to trap the beast, and even the most simple of hunters understood that beasts became far fiercer when they had been restricted their liberty.

Blood sprayed into the air, detonating outwards like a low-hanging mist, clinging roughly to the body of the antagonizing monster, and falling heartily upon the local flora. The beast rather predictably went for the throat of its downed opponent, and Noth observed the desperation of the caster, now revealed as he grasped at the sides of his foe, sent hurtling serpents of fire snapping against the wings of his killer, but to no avail. Moments later, the thudding pulse of heartbeats was exhibited by only two beings, both killers, both at times more beast than man.

Noth didn’t genuinely believe that he could fight the creature. It had been assailed with snakes of flame, and an entire squadron of Etzori scouts, and yet had managed to slay all of them with only a few scratches to show for the effort. Admittedly, he wasn’t entirely unconvinced that he couldn’t do the same, especially if he caught the scouts unaware, but it was a test of comparable strengths that he was not willing to take, one which would likely lead to personal demise. Despite that, the twilight hybrid glared out of the foliage with blazing crimson eyes, the light of dying fires flashing across his eyes in nightmarish fashion.

He slung the bow across his shoulder, and slowly, proudly strutted forth from the smoke, appearing for a moment like some fantastic wraith, circling the amalgamation, refusing to break eye contact with it. The beast knew not his own strength, but acts of confidence typically caused predators to pause their predation. He paused his encirclement, and turned fully towards the creature, staring directly at it, and observed. Slowly, so as not to give cause for alarm, he began to unravel his sole wing from his back, allowing it to stretch out behind him.

They were not so different.

The language of men was unwelcome here, and so words were spoken in silence, a primitive conversation held in primal undertones.

Most people seemed to have the interpretation that predators were constantly at war with one another, and that they would attack one another instantaneously for little to no provocation, but the opposite couldn’t be truer. Combat risked injury, and the wild beasts of the woods had not doctors nor medicine men to treat their wounds. Even the most basic of scratches carried the risk of infection, and even the slightest combats carried the cost of exhaustion. He made no moves to threaten the creature, nor any moves whatsoever, but instead simply allowed himself to be examined, and in return, he examined the creature before him, marveling at its strange anatomy.

And then, without warning, he slammed a talon down into a nearby corpse, and promptly slashed through an unprotected jugular. The heart had already stopped several bits ago, and so the blood had already begun to slow and coagulate, but a quick shove of the corpse allowed gravity to gradually yank the thickened blood through the wound. He lifted his talon, scraping the thick liquid from the appendage, and spreading it entirely across his palm.

With his simple act of brutality done, he simply held up the bloodied palm towards the beast, in mock imitation of a greeting.

The greeting made, and the acknowledgement shared between he and the treacherous monster, he promptly began to step away from it, slipping hastily into the woods. He had displayed all that he needed to display for the creature.

He returned several breaks later, stealing away whatever nels had been left behind by the corpses, along with their valuable things. After all, he had always had a bit of scavenger blood running through his predatory veins.

[Pegasus]

Noth

Overview

Tactical Noth! We love it - really well written and I was really interested to read about his thought process here, his consideration of what was happening and the way that he considered whether to help, when to help, who to help - and not! I understand your point about the ending, but actually I think it worked really well and punctuated the encounter for him, underlining its purpose. Great stuff. As always, any questions, let me know.

Points

XP: 15

Fame: None

Loot

8gn, 2cn.
A necklace of small pearl-white teeth on a string.
1 small dagger (average quality)
1 diary of an Etzori soldier (deceased)
1 silver ring.

Knowledge

Stealth: Staying Near the Edge of a Fight Keeps you Hidden
Stealth: Staying Away from Firelight
Ranged: Firing On a Target to Distract it

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