Congratulations for making it to the second round of the Tournament of Champions. Both teams receive three Fate Points for making it this far! The battle closes after 11:59 PM EST on March 16th. Good luck to both teams!
Arenas were arranged at random, and your prompt is as follows:
Your battle takes you into a steaming, fetid jungle thick with thorny vines and infested with mosquitoes.
Retired Administrator
Elijah Belov, "Everything else is just a chef!"
Bitterwood -- Red-Stained Night
Out of Character:
With a fantastic roar, the echoing thunder matched Honuse Relaiyent’s exhalation; the giant, who stood above the mightiest warriors of Valhalla, felt his body tiring at the strain of his exertions. Through the ancient knowledge he had embraced centuries ago, the Lawmaker, beloved of the gods, had commanded the living fibers of the rooftop where he stood to shift and bend, weaving them into a structure of his own design. The building, which stood at equal height to its hundreds of neighbors, rested in a shadow borne of the thick night, lit by naught but the occasional flash of lightning overhead. The newly constructed cage, however, shone faintly with the dampened light of the Glowing One, a strangely luminescent warrior of unknown birth, of whom the Lawmaker had been tasked to slay.
Such was the reason the man, named abomination by others, came to be in the forsaken city, bereft of the race of giants that built it. He and a companion, a dvergr of the mountains known to him as Till, had been sent by their lord Thor to distant lands, to partake in a tournament. The tournament, which had promised to gather combatants of renown from across the cosmos, would be a bountiful feast of souls to harvest, to aid in the struggles of the Aesir at Ragnarok. It was for this purpose that he suffered the trivialities of tournament, despite his own loathing for such; Honuse Relaiyent undertook his baptism by combat many ages ago, and had no love for the formalities of such warfare.
A greenish tint pervaded the ever-present smoke that clouded the Lawmaker’s gaze; such was his only form of sight, having lost his eyes in his comparative youth. The mist swirled about, defining shape and color to a limited extent, forming itself in this evening against the vision of a tall warrior held within living bonds. Yet the bonds did not hold; even as the Lawmaker extended his perceptions to locate the biological mass of the Glowing One’s companion, the first enemy writhed about, having extended a sharp blade through the comparatively thin material encasing him. With a burst, he came free, before leaping over the edge of the building.
Whispering an ancient curse to himself, the Lawmaker beckoned his companion, who had stood at guard nearby, and sheathed the blade, which had been grasped in his right hand. Till, having reckoned his companion’s meaning with some reluctance, similarly cast his own weapon upon his back, preparing for a detestable return to the air. For such was the manner of arriving upon the rooftop; the abomination ran towards the dwarf, grabbing the tall being under one arm even as he bounded up the half-step which bordered the ledge. The muscle in his legs promptly dissolved, forcing themselves through the giant’s body and out his back, taking shape as leathery wings. Though in his haste, Honuse Relaiyent had not formed substantial strength or control in them, they were enough to guide the descent of the pair to the earth below.
The Glowing One, who had seemingly bounded off the sides of two buildings to slow his fall, met his own partner along the ground. The pair were swift of foot, requiring the Lawmaker to return his muscles to their natural state, taking up the pursuit in a more standard way; though the rainfall had rendered the ground muddy and slick, the Lawmaker’s innate talents sufficed to harden it beneath the footfalls of him and his companion, speeding their chase. They headed south, insofar as the giant could tell; his body, which was imbued with pure electricity, held a magnetic attraction similar to a compass, though its bearing was oft skewed in strange lands.
Till, gifted with the impeccable night vision of his subterranean kin, took eagerly to the pursuit, deftly maneuvering through the increasingly dense labyrinth of trees; Honuse Relaiyent, having hunted such quarry countless times without aid of true vision, was likewise unhindered by the prevalence of the biological material glowing effusively in his mind. The thunder continued to roar its anger overhead, the clouds covering the midnight moon as they spat a torrential downpour upon the land. The very earth was brooding this night, creating demons of mist and madness at every turn. Yet still their opponents fled, whether through fear or clever strategy, the giant did not know.
Seething inwardly at the pursuit, Honuse Relaiyent vowed to speak what words he could with his master upon returning to Asgard; though the finding of worthy souls be an admirable goal in the pursuit of the Whole Glory, such pointless formalities as tournament were wasted upon the unrivaled destructive power of the Lawmaker. Even Till, who had deigned to spit at the gods and enact his vengeance upon the green grass of Thor’s house, had not the prowess to stand before the Lawmaker; though his sabotage was terrible, he himself proved to be as an ass upon the field. Such a stand he made, though it ended in defeat, marked his sole reason for continued existence, serving his punishment as Honuse Relaiyent’s companion; though to the Lawmaker’s mind, it was he, not Till, who stood punished.
As the miles passed, the surrounding foliage grew ever denser; the Lawmaker found himself within a jungle, lush and verdant in its expanse, though brooding and malignant with the weather. Dark hues of green engulfed everything, as the ground itself was covered in a deep moss; though to the eyes of the abomination, it was but a jagged expanse of broken shadows, contrasting with the bright texture of his inward perceptions. Such was his distraction that the giant failed to notice a large creeping mass interpose itself between him and his still-distant enemies; it was Till who first shouted the warning, bringing Honuse Relaiyent’s thoughts back to the path ahead.
Before them, crouched low in the underbrush was a massive construct of dense muscle, appearing as a tiger from the far eastern reaches of Midgard; without a sound it sprung, leaping past the dwarf to strike Honuse Relaiyent full in the shoulders. His armor, which covered the expanse of his body below the neck in matte black leather, resisted the piercing claws of the beast, though the physical force of the attack staggered the man back a step. With a grunt, the Lawmaker thrust his right arm forward in a punch. The arm, as was the case with its pair, had a peculiar modification attached to it; a long, thin blade emerged from the top of the forearm, pointing outwards at a parallel angle, terminating just beyond his fingertips. This blade, as dark as the night around it, entered the abdomen of the tiger with such force that the abomination’s right foot slid backwards a step in the soft mud.
Bracing himself further, Honuse Relaiyent held the enraged animal away from his body, before plunging in the second arm blade. With a great strain, he flung his arms outward, shearing the creature open across the gut. It fell backwards with an anguished cry, splashing around pitifully in the darkness, unable to escape the pain it felt; the Lawmaker extended his will to its primitive brain, severing the connection to its spinal cord with a thought, more from annoyance at the sound of its cries than any sense of humaneness. Briefly checking himself over, the man found no significant damage to his person, save a rather putrid smelling blood upon his gauntleted hands. Wiping them against the unstained fur of the slain beast, he turned his gaze once more upon the road; though all that existed within it was ambling smoke and plants, bereft of his quarry.
“They are beyond my sight. Let us look to our next foes, and pray a meeting within the tournament village.” The Lawmaker said, turning to his companion; though he was a warrior by the sword, having little use for words in the best of circumstances, Honuse Relaiyent found it vital to assert his supremacy in the team where possible. The perceived necessity of speaking such words, which were already well known to both, was as close to an insult as the giant ever came. Turning about, the abomination prepared to return to the center of festivities to await their next combat; yet a partially noticed tingle upon his spine halted him in mid-action. Whether it was an effect of the dwindling adrenaline in his body, or the perceived notion of distant watchfulness, he did not know. Having learned across a terribly long career to trust in his own instinct for battle, Honuse Relaiyent dropped to a crouch, waiting patiently to see if his suspicions bore out.
Last edited by Shadowed; 02-23-09 at 10:07 AM.
Out of Character:
The occasional pops of the small campfire sent ripples through the thick silence of the night. Heavy sloughs of clouds, visible only by their shadows on the stars, slithered languidly across the sky, wrapping the earth in a deeper darkness than that to which Jericho was accustomed.
Across the flames, his ward and partner sat cross-legged, methodically running an oiled rag over his sword. Kryos' eyes, now a cold, slate mercury rather than their diurnal crimson, caught the castings of the fire and glinted like heated bronze. The swordsman's shadow stretched behind him to the border of the clearing and up the trunks of the thick evergreens at the forest's edge. The position of the fire and the distance to the trees enlarged the dwiilar's silhouette into that of a giant, reaching nearly to the utmost branches.
The day had gone well. They'd found this world through one of the many portals in the Garden, a vacant wood where they could train away from prying eyes. From the first breaking of the realm's blood-red sun, Kryos had tested the limits of Jericho's strength and skill. But as they passed from drill to drill, skirmish to skirmish, Jericho's attention had rarely been on the training. Rather, his thoughts had fallen back to the first day of the Tournament, when, caught up in one of the Cabal's portals, he and Kryos had touched each other's minds.
The memory he had awakened in that emptiness came bubbling back into his consciousness, sweeping and quivering like the dark giant in the trees. A memory set so deeply within the dwiilar's mind that it had taken a schism of space to draw it out, a memory so sharp and dark that the barest hints Jericho retained made him shudder. A memory of screams, of blackness like oil slicking down into his very soul.
The elkin closed his eyes, blotting out the image of his partner's mammoth shadow. He fought to still his breathing, to quell the rush of panic and adrenaline that the memory always sparked. He reached out with his spirit, called to the Voice for guidance—but the One kept his silence, as he had throughout the day.
Jericho sighed, running his hooved fingers over the fur of his arms and hugging his elbows. A sickle of brisk wind whipped through the camp, slicing through the fire's meager warmth. He shivered, his features bunching into a wrinkled frown.
Heaven had not held its tongue from him for so long in years. Time and again, during Kryos' drills, the familiar Voice that had guided him in all his journeys had fallen suddenly quiet, followed always by the cold fire of the dwiilar's steel on his flesh. Wounds that only days prior he could've healed in moments had taken hours to close, as the Light seemed reluctant to show itself. Jericho dreaded to think what that could mean for their next battle.
Releasing a shuddering breath, he opened his eyes again, and Kryos' monstrous shadow towered over the camp to meet his gaze. By some trick of the light, the branches of a spruce formed two enormous, unblinking eyes in the behemoth's face. Trapped under their stare, Jericho felt a terror too deep for understanding.
One thing had stood out to him during his skirmishes with Kryos. Every so often, when the Voice stayed with him long enough, he had managed to gain the upper hand—and each time, something in his ward had snapped open, something had unlocked. The dwiilar's eyes lit with a sharp rage that flowed into his blade. Those had been the times that Jericho sustained the most grievous wounds.
Jericho tore his gaze from the gaping knot-eyes of the shadow, but as he looked to his partner, he realized that Kryos' eyes, catching the firelight like razors, frightened him even more. He felt a rage in the dwiilar that blazed with greater fury than a hundred thunderstorms—and if it stemmed from the memory he had glimpsed in Kryos' mind, he could scarcely imagine the depth of it. Never before had he been given an assignment like this; never before had he faced such giants. He had helped mothers break free of grief, aided men in quests for self-honor. But never, not once, had he stood in opposition to such wrath.
And in this moment of greatest need, the Voice had fallen silent.
That thought twisted in his heart, forcing a cervine snort from his nostrils. He drew his arms closer around his torso, pressed his hooves into the grass, and curled his legs to his chest. For one more moment, Kryos' giant of a shadow stared down at him from the trees, and then the elkin slid his eyes shut and let his neck droop, resting his forehead on his knees.
“Father, Father!”
Heavy hooves come clomping. The door opens, and Father has a lantern. The shadows on his antlers look scary in the dark.
“Jericho, are you all right?”
I pull the covers closer. They're scratchy and they smell like goats, but the monster can't get me through the covers.
“Father, there's a monster by the window!”
Scritch scritch scritch, it's still there! I can see its shadow from the moon. Father looks up and goes to the window. He opens it! The wind is howling outside.
“Father!” He reaches outside. It'll get him! “Don't, don't!”
Snap. He brings his hand back in, and he shuts the window. He has a little branch from the ash tree.
“See? This is all it was.” He sits on the bed. He smells sweet, like cedar. He puts the branch on the covers.
Oh, it was a tree. I'm glad Father isn't like Caanen. Caanen would laugh at me. “I thought it was a giant.”
He smiles, and he sets the lantern on the table by my bed. “Do you remember the story of Gavin and the Giant?”
I smile too, because I like that one. “Gavin won.”
“Yes he did. And was Gavin a big, strong warrior like his brothers?”
Father curls his arms and flexes his muscles. He looks silly, and I giggle. “No.”
“Did he have armor and a big sword?” He swishes his arm like Caanen does when we play knights.
“No, he was a shepherd.”
Father's eyes sparkle. “Yes, he was. But when that big, ugly giant—three times as tall as Gavin's oldest brother!—came to his village, what did he do?”
I scrunch my eyebrows because I can't remember. Then I do remember and I smile! “He listened!”
Father nods. “Yes he did. He listened, and when the One told him to go kill that big mean giant, he knew it didn't matter how big the giant was, because the One was bigger. Isn't that right?”
The One sure is big. Caanen says he's bigger than the mountains, and smart too, which is why he doesn't step on us. I bet he could have stepped on that giant. “Yes, Father.”
Father leans in and kisses my forehead. His fur is scratchy, the way it gets when he works late in the shop. “You remember that.” He stands up and takes the lantern.
“Yes, Father. I will.”
The elkin shuddered, rubbing the bases of his antlers against his kneecaps. Gavin. Gavin and the Giant. That's the way things were supposed to happen. The way he needed them to happen. For he too was a child with wool for armor, casting pebbles at giants—at whatever dark leviathans had claimed Kryos as their own. He knew that was his task—to somehow lead Kryos back into the Light—but he felt so weak, so alone...
He let out a sigh, but it sounded much more like a whimper than he had intended.
You called me here, and I answered. You promised me there was a way—but how can I follow it, if you do not reveal it to me?
“Do you often let your mind wander during battle?”
Jericho started and looked up across the fire. The dwiilar continued to draw his sword across the oilcloth like a bow over a violin, never lifting his eyes from the blade.
“You won't be very useful in a fight if you aren't focused. What was distracting you today?” Kryos' eyes remained on his work, his voice as hard and edged as the instrument he was treating.
The elkin exhaled slowly and dropped his chin onto his knees. He closed his eyes—but no Voice answered his plea for guidance. No words came. He was alone.
“Why did you come to the tournament, Kryos?”
The steel-eyed swordsman paused for moment, then continued to play his silent melody with the sword on the rag, never once looking up from his work. “For the prize, of course. The wish.”
No turning back, now. He had set out on this path. He would follow it to its end. “And what do you wish for?”
The blade slid once more over the rag. Then Kryos lifted it, eyeing its sheen, and spun it in a gleaming arc through the firelight. “Strength. Power. Doesn't everyone?”
Jericho chuffed. “Not everyone.”
Kryos halted his blade in mid turn, lowering it to the grass as he lowered his eyes for the first time to his partner. “And what would you wish for? That girl, maybe.”
Jericho's shoulders went rigid. “What?”
“I caught a memory of her in the portal on the first day.” The dwiilar drove his sword into its sheath with a soft thud. “One of your kind. Honey-colored fur, green eyes—”
“No.” The elkin let go of his elbows and stretched out his legs, as though preparing to flee. No, no, no, he had prayed, he had prayed Kryos hadn't seen that, not that, anything but that—
“Ah.” Kryos smiled, picking up a prodding stick and shuffling the logs in the fire, loosing a torrent of crackling sparks into the night. The light caught on his eyes, painting the shadows on his face into a fiendish sneer. “So she broke your heart.”
“NO!” Jericho wrenched away from that metallic gaze, twisting to turn his back on the flames. Then he froze.
His own shadow stretched behind him, cast on the trees as a giant even larger than his partner's, the silhouettes of his antlers curving over his head like the grotesque horns of a demon.
He gasped, shuddered, and his muscles turned to mud, leaving his petrified spine to hold him upright. He wanted so badly to close his eyes, to blot out the sight of that monster, that creature crafted in his own form from the darkness. But he knew, even if his eyelids had obeyed, it wouldn't have mattered. He would still see that shape burned on his retinas, carved into his very soul. After all, from his soul it had been made.
A quaking sigh trickled from his muzzle. He fought to keep tears from forming in his eyes as he turned back to the fire. That was what separated him from Gavin the shepherd boy. Whatever giants lived in Kryos were nothing compared to the one that lived in him. The shadow, the stain, the scar of sin he had carved into his heart those years ago was the real reason the Voice had gone silent. He could still feel her fur, see her terrified jade-green eyes—
He clenched his eyes shut lest a tear escape. “No.”
The fire clacked and snickered in the stillness. The elkin stared into the coals, his muscles hard as stone, as he felt the weight of his partner's brooding stare from across the fire. The moment waxed into a long spell of silence. Every so often a sharp breeze came, slipping through Jericho's fur, clearing away the musky smell of woodsmoke. The flames had fallen nearly to embers before Kryos spoke again.
“I don't know what's happened to you, Jericho.”
Without moving his head, Jericho lifted his eyes to the dwiilar. As the firelight faded, Kryos' shadow was slipping into hiding in the cover of the forest.
“But I have too much riding on this contest to go into battle with a distracted partner. Whatever your issues, deal with them. We don't have...”
The swordsman trailed off. Jericho's fur bristled, and the flames suddenly dimmed to nothing as a strange wind moved through the camp. His spirit prickled, and he felt crackles of energy start to dance around the clearing.
Kryos got to his feet. “It's the Cabal.”
His paralysis broken, Jericho scrambled on his knees to retrieve his staff. He stood, darting back to take up his cloak and set it around his shoulders. The creases were more numerous now, more frantic. He almost felt he could see them, tiny flickers of shadow in the darkness of the night. Static skittered over his fur, and he planted his staff to steady himself. He stared through the plume of smoke released by the vanquished fire, and even in the mottled starlight, Kryos' eyes gleamed like daggers.
“Be ready,” the dwiilar said.
The seams of energy were converging, spiraling down over both warriors' forms. Jericho tightened his grip on the quarterstaff as the world cracked and slipped away.
How does one get ready to war with giants?
-
Last edited by Jericho; 03-11-09 at 08:04 PM.
When the night is at its darkest, look upon the eastern sky. The Light is on its way. ((ToC Profile))
Out of Character:
The gray thrashing of soundless wind buffeted against the two companions, submerging them in wave after crushing wave of uncertainty as their bodies and minds were taken beyond the conscious realm, leaving nothing but their existence to survive the suffocating space and encompassing currents of doubt and unbelief. And yet, it was almost as if, at the same instant, their very souls were breaking apart into numberless shards of thought and life, allowing the void of the portal to fill in the aching gaps that yearned to be satisfied, swirling their broken spirits into a collective tapestry of blazing alabaster and burning onyx. Without the edges of the physical world, nothing could impede the quintessence of one from coalescing with the other.
Still, even in their unified state, separation remained, enough that Kryos could keep his own thoughts hidden, just as Jericho did with his own. The brief manifestation of power had given them ample time to steel themselves against this horrifying oblivion. He could feel the elkin’s presence, though his partner’s thoughts were sealed safely within the deepest chambers of his heart. For a moment, the dwiilar was tempted to reach in and probe his comrade, but thought better of it. They were entering battle, so it would be best to leave him alone.
His own worries didn’t ebb, however. Jericho’s brash reaction to the memory of the enigmatic girl played unceasingly on the forefront of his mind. That, and the tortured expression that carved deep lines of pain across his companion’s face as he tried to hide his emotions. Looking at the shrouded memory with this new light, it was simple for Kryos to determine what had transpired. A small piece of the mystery cloaking Jericho fell into place, and in doing so released more questions, the most vital of which was why that memory was so important.
Kryos had no answer, nor could he perceive any possibilities with his attention chasing itself in helpless circles like a raptor searching for prey. It was evident that the truth behind the elk’s origin and purpose here was wrapped in chords of suspicion and fear, lined with barbs to keep all hands away. Finding a way through the tangles would be difficult, if not dangerous, for he recognized that his own secrets were similarly guarded behind silence and lies. While what he had told Jericho had been true–that he sought power and strength–his true motive for accepting the Cabal’s invitation remained unknown to all but the hosts themselves. Nor did he intend for that fact to change.
The distraught features of his partner’s face refused to leave, a plague upon his mind, clear in the ever-present, all-consuming maelstrom of gray. The face of a convict as the bars clang shut, of hopelessness denied the noose. A face so familiar to him that he couldn’t believe he hadn’t seen it before.
It was the mask he had worn when he learned of Lorin’s death.
He knew pain and the horrors of war. He knew betrayal and the double-edged sword of lying to loved ones. And he knew of the soul-crushing agony that came with the self-inflicted wounds of the past, of crimes committed that couldn’t be changed.
In the spell of reminiscence, he remembered the words of a dear friend, one of the few he had allowed himself to grow close to along his path of redemption. The question whose answer still remained outside his grasp.
Can you do it? Can you save him?
The scattered remnants of his being resonated with the question, loud in the silence of their prolonged banishment from reality. He wondered vaguely if Jericho had caught the echoing of his spirited memories. The questions brought back the scene, of hard granite beneath him as he sat with eyes and head downcast, face obscured by shadow. The assuring, calm voice, like a summer’s breeze strolling through a pine forest as it beseeched him for the truth. Asking for the impossible.
The past suddenly fused with the present, shocking Kryos into a heightened awareness with the intensity of a thousand lightning strikes so much like their last battle. Meaning filled the formerly inconsequential inquiries.
Can you do it?
Somehow, fate had seen him to this tournament, this invaluable chance at redemption. The Cabal had certainly proven the extent of their power. There was no mistaking it. The opportunity to undo the past had been laid before him, ready to seize.
Can you save him?
His strength had grown considerably since that time, so long ago. Surely, he could do it now. The full realization of the Cabal’s promise hit him like a glowing brand on a horse’s hide, jolting him to awareness. He didn’t know if he could succeed at this, but he would try. For redemption, for a second chance. For Lorin. In his mind’s eye, the ruffled brown hair and constant grin that always accompanied the warm glow in his friend’s bright blue eyes appeared, before dripping into nothing as chaos matured to order and the physical came whipping back to awareness.
He dropped to his hands and knees, his face a mask of disgust and horror as his recently-returned body fought the instinct to gag. What abominable place had the Cabal chosen for them this time? Thick, shadowy fog covered the place where they had entered, vile wisps swirling with the discharge of energy and veiling the surroundings. Not that they were necessary. The ungodly smell that clung to his clothes and seared his nose and the soft, damp ground beneath his hands and feet revealed the truth from the clutches of darkness.
A jungle fit for the most loathsome creatures known to infest Althanas.
He coughed, breathing in more of that putrid air in an attempt to rid himself from it, and he struggled to control himself. His eyes glanced up and about, piercing the first few layers of the steam that stuck to his skin and clothes like perspiration–oozing down his back like mucus from a slug. Thick, ropy vines draped around them like elegant curtains while large, sharp, and in some cases, serrated thorns sealed the two in the natural prison. From the ground erupted many exotic plants, darkened in the absence of light, thus making the sharp leaves all the more dangerous. The trees themselves, warped and twisted in the foul environment, towered as colossal sentinels over all, beings who never slept and never ceased their vigil over the jungle. They blocked out much of the surrounding area, as well as the midnight sky, not that Kryos would be able to make out much detail with the defiling smog that interfered with his sight. So thick was it that he could almost taste the grime when it entered his mouth.
Forcing himself to breathe in, he rose to his feet. Next to him, Jericho also struggled to contain himself. The dwiilar felt sorry for him, embodied in chestnut fur as he was. This humidity must be torture for him, ten times worse than what Kryos was feeling, but he didn’t let it show on his face. Jericho was good at masking his true feelings. The elk’s cloak draped about his frame, almost pulled him down into the plant-life around him, antlers fitting in well with the more slender vines. Their eyes met, cold steel clashing with roasted cinnamon as mutual revulsion and apprehension resonated between the two.
Calming his surprised mind, Kryos reached up and unsheathed his sword, the metallic rasp melding into the natural sounds of the jungle as one. The enclosed and cramped and dangerous setting in which their most gracious hosts had set for them would be tricky to deal with. For one thing, movement would be limited, and if their enemies were already waiting for them, their deaths may have been insured before they were even claimed by the teleporting magic.
Unease filling his heart, he took another sickening pull of the fetid air and let his power flow, evoking the abilities of his kind. His eyes blossomed with silver, immersing themselves in the gleaming drops of moonlight that radiated luminescence. He let his new awareness expand to his full range of vision, an orb that saw through the obscuring snares of the jungle and mist, picking up the presence of any living thing.
He stiffened. While he could detect no threats in their immediate vicinity, all around them life flew and darted about, the subtle humming of wings now evident in his new sight. The infectious pests that ruled the labyrinth of decay. One was creeping closer to Jericho from behind. Whipping around, his sword slashed the darkness, splattering ink upon the black ground as the creature twitched and died, covered in its own blood.
Mosquitoes, changed beyond recognition just as the trees and the vines. It was as big as both of Kryos’ fists, with the finger-length, infamous needle that drew blood. Such a thing was a crime against nature, an aberration to the essence of life.
The swordsman glanced at Jericho, who stood a couple feet back, eyes mirroring his own disgust. It went without saying that the danger was evident to both of them. They were clearly out of their element. He flicked his wrist, using the motion to fling as much of the vile blood from his weapon’s blade as possible, before turning his back on death’s claim.
“We need to leave this place, in case our opponents arrived before us and noticed our entrance.” He stepped nearer to the elk across the spongy jungle floor, disturbing the ghastly fumes. “I wasn’t able to detect them within our immediate vicinity, but that will no doubt change. If possible, we should locate them first.” Pausing briefly, he glanced about for the clearest path to take, growing frustrated by the thick plants that closed them in. “Our movement will be hindered, even without the danger of the creatures infesting this place,” he added, scorn evident in his firm voice as he gestured behind him.
Taking another unsteady breath, he moved through the thick, dark vapor once more, angling for a small space between two large trees that wasn’t as obstructed by vines and the spiny plants that littered the clay-like, moss-covered ground.
“Wait.” The voice made him pause, and he looked behind him. Jericho was glancing off in the opposite direction, face rigid and jaw locked while his ears batted from side to side. Strange–Kryos hadn’t heard anything, and the impossible path, one filled with a legion of thorns, cords, and obstacles, was one which he preferred to avoid. Yet, without looking at the dwiilar, Jericho pointed with two hoofed fingers, although his movements were slow, hesitant. As if he himself wasn’t quite sure. “This way.” Without waiting for a response, he strode forward, his staff thudding quietly against the giving ground as he went. Stopping a few feet away from the dense plants, he stretched forth his hand, palm facing out and fingers straight. A small glow appeared, flickering wildly in its weakness, before growing to some degree of light. Then, before their very eyes, the plants began to move.
They shuddered at first, as if blinded and burned by the mystical light emitting from Jericho’s hand, before twisting and moving themselves to get away from the intruding presences. The vines hissed as they rubbed against each other, pulling and tightening, rising higher and higher until they disappeared into the darkness. The large bushes that lined the ground leaned away and out, almost shrinking in an effort to escape. Even the putrid mist seemed to ease up. Within the space of two minutes, during which the swordsman watched his partner with speculation and intrigue, the way was cleared. The light vanished from the elkin’s hand, and he breathed deeply. Now that they had been in the jungle long enough, they were becoming accustomed to their rank surroundings. In the brief pause, Kryos silenced another set of wiry wings.
Jericho glanced back toward the dwiilar, and smiled briefly, though the dwiilar barely caught it in the darkness. In truth, he was impressed once again by the hidden power that resided in the humble and meek figure that stood before him, though he wouldn’t show it. Not now, when anything and everything could go wrong. Instead, he gave a single nod of approval as he approached their newfound path, eyes still glowing with power, ever vigilant to watch their surroundings for peril.
For the web and shroud of the jungle masked the secrets within, protecting their prey and enticing the two comrades–warrior and beast–to journey down false trails. Roads, it seemed, that led inescapably to oblivion.
Last edited by Kryos; 03-19-09 at 03:41 AM.
Amidst the sounds of the torrential downpour through the dense foliage of the jungle, new sounds manifested themselves to Honuse Relaiyent’s ears. Large snakes plied through the thick moss and underbrush; mosquitoes the size of dogs flew intermittently about the area; and a single pair of wings, borne upon the back of a large humanoid shape, sounded overhead. The steady thrum was that of a valkyrie, as would be assigned to carry forth the slain to Odin’s halls; yet why it had manifested itself prematurely, the Lawmaker did not know. Such an omen did not bid well.
The buzzing of an insect drew nearer, distracting the giant from his thoughts. With an idle sweep of his right hand, a flicker of lightning shot forward to electrocute the interloper, leaving Honuse Relaiyent to ponder the implications of the messenger he had detected above. Though it had not happened for hundreds of years, the gods occasionally used valkyries as messengers, when the servants of their own house failed in swiftness. Such would bode ill for the Lawmaker, as he was many days’ travel from the house of his Lord; yet what matter would be so urgent as to require the swiftest of messengers to take flight? There had been no portents of doom upon the eve of his journey to the tournament, save the trifle of Till’s insolence in the week past.
As pressing as the matter was, a new concern thrust itself into the Lawmaker’s mind; far off in the forest, yet approaching inexorably closer, came two bipeds of unknown birth. Though it was difficult to distinguish the sounds of their footsteps, the background noise of animals fleeing before them was clear, as was the dying buzz of mosquitoes hewn along their path. The distant hum of breath lapped gently upon Honuse Relaiyent’s ears; as it came from two mouths, accompanied by the soft call of dirt undergoing compression, the initial belief of two bipeds as opposed to a single quadruped proved correct, as near as the man could tell. Such would be the cause of his subconscious wariness; though the giant’s hearing was above that of the kin of his birth, his brain was incapable of deciphering and interpreting the faintest of sounds that he heard, though at some basic level such anomalies still registered.
All thoughts of valkyries and distant lands removed themselves from his mind. There could be no doubt that the pair were enemies; whether their initial opponents, returned to ambush the Norse warriors, or some new pair of interlopers striving for honor and victory amidst the dense jungle, he did not know. All that was of concern was the knowledge that their path would intersect the two soldiers of Thor’s pursuit; a suitable welcome would be necessary. Turning back towards the dwarf, Honuse Relaiyent bid the tall dvergr to climb a nearby tree – such a command, though it would be obeyed, would undoubtedly rankle his companion, who had lived for many years deep under mountain, and had no love of heights. For his own part, the Lawmaker fell upon his knees before the thickest bole around, forcing the entirety of his will upon it.
Though the strangers were yet many thousands of paces off, the giant did not wish to squander the time he had available. A deep prayer, cast from the bowels of his mind, bled through his tightly clenched lips. The thick smoke in his vision danced about wildly, finding new passageways amidst the tree, even as the giant sundered its living core. A hollow was made, while the displaced wood stretched deep underground, creating a culvert below the mossy surface of the area. Gasping for air, the Lawmaker bent a portion of his well to his own body, increasing the flow of oxygen and adrenaline, lest his strains render him unconscious; with a fresh surge of vitality, the abomination rose to his feet, striding forward to land easily within the pit he had created. With another utterance, the tree was healed of its wound, encasing the Lawmaker in thick, ancient armor. His breath flowed easily through the plant itself, and no visible trace remained to suggest a man waited within, preparing for an ambush.
Outside, the thunder continued to echo mindlessly, while the lightning cast thick shadows through the foliage. Till sat quietly in the branches above, his dark skin brought to wicked illumination with the manifestation of Thor’s heavenly fury. Far above, the lone valkyrie sighted the dwarf; it circled about, an ill fated portent of events to come, though it no longer held a place within the heart or mind of any within the land. For indeed, Honuse Relaiyent waited patiently within his hidden abode, sapping miniscule amounts of vitality from the tree to refuel his own body after his labors. The calmness of his mind belied the unseen itch upon his palms, for his task within the world was one of brutal combat, of glory and splendor undimmed before the fading breath of his adversaries. The wait was simply a nuisance, vital yet wasteful in its own right; for who lived to stand at arms before the unbridled wrath of Asgard? The very thought of such a warrior rising unheard of from the lands beyond was contemptible, for none such man of arms could exist without bearing the scrutiny of the tireless gods.
Relaxing within his earthen pit, the Lawmaker stretched his awareness to the jungle beyond; dozens of large creatures filled the area, yet even they could not distract from the perception of intrusion that surrounded the interlopers. Their footfalls brought them ever closer, with whatever wariness they embraced; perhaps sufficient to espy the cloaked and diminished form of the dvergr, perhaps sufficient to reveal naught but their own rain soaked hands thrust forward in the tangible darkness. Their advance came steadily, moving within a mere handful of hundreds of feet before the abomination. Though the jungle was alive and enflamed in interconnected systems of roots and vines, eager to rid itself of the invaders, its will was strong enough to limit the giant’s own powers of persuasion to such negligible ranges.
Trusting his companion’s sharp eyes to catch sight of that which he desired to do, Honuse Relaiyent began imposing his will upon the living boughs and vines surrounding the approaching warriors. Draining the vast reserves of stored sunlight found deep within his shelter, the Lawmaker felt a rush of energy course through his veins, allowing him the strength of will required for his chaotic designs. All about the intruders, trees found their roots detached, even as they toppled about with a roar mighty enough to silence the distant thunder. They fell about the expanse of a hundred feet, to the front, back, and sides of the pair within the center of carnage. The massive trunks formed a barrier of man height, while the twisted branches formed an imposing, if less cohesive, wall many tens of feet higher.
Even as the ancient trees toppled over, the water within and atop their bark was altered; the hydrogen evaporated, rising high into the air faster than the now-destitute oxygen could follow. Before the echoes of their collapse had faded, Till, rising to his full height in the distant branches, prepared a stone upon his sling. To the stone he imbued the rune of Kenaz; upon striking any surface, even bare rock or dirt, a fantastic spark would erupt, hotter than the sword of Surtr, lord of the fire giants to the south. It flew unerringly towards the chaotic mass of flash-dried trees, creating small devils of flame upon any vines or leaves it caressed while in flight. With a mighty roar of combustion, it struck the piled wood, igniting the entire square cage within an instant. Bright tongues of fire lit the night, casting furious light through the misty confines of the jungle.
The sky answered with its own furious laughter; lightning flashed about the land with unmitigated potency, igniting fires of its own across the land; though the torrential rainfall limited the scope of the flames, it became evident that the earth was unwilling to be surpassed by the devilry of magic. The maniacal laughter of its thunder drowned even the crackling bitterness of the conflagration, while the unceasing downpour cast a thick pall of steam about, obscuring what vision the light of fire offered. Such a madness of destruction did nothing to please the Lawmaker, who sat comfortably silent within his living armor. The death of the jungle was a triviality to him, for it existed only to serve the higher purpose, as did he and Till. Whatever fate existed upon this day would be shared by all the house of Thor, from the unquenchable flame of combat to the slow decay of boredom as foreign machinations supplanted the thrill of steel.
Last edited by Shadowed; 03-08-09 at 04:59 PM.
Out of Character:
As one, he and Jericho moved cautiously through the thick entanglement of the unrelenting jungle. With quick arcs of silver, Kryos’ muandrian severed the ropy vines that barred their way, and their eyes always watched the blackness that swirled at their feet. The churning, charcoal clouds above the canopy released their reservoirs of rain upon the land below with the fury of a tsunami, soaking their clothes, dripping into their eyes, and further hampering their vision. Though his sight bested the elves, Kryos found himself straining to see more than twenty yards ahead. Only with the frequent flashed of celestial power could he restore his mental image of their surroundings. They entered a small clearing, a welcome respite from the ensnaring growths.
That was when all hell broke loose.
Like a groaning giant, the great trees at the glade’s edge heaved to the side; a devastating chain reaction shook the ground like a stampede. He dropped to his knees for balance, noting that Jericho did the same. Kryos watched as earth shot into the air as the gnarled roots sprung from their dirt confines. The great impact of tree on tree and bark on earth, though muted with the fresh rain, vibrated through his frame and pounded on his ears. His eyes flashed, darting from point to point in an effort to locate their enemy, no doubt the cause of this calamity. A sudden movement of air, as if the very rain had been displaced. The snapping of branches and rending wood almost paused in their descent, holding a communal breath. Waiting. Then, their world erupted in flames.
The blast echoed outward and inward from the wreath of now blazing trees and vines, throwing the two to the ground. The sheer sound of the shockwave pierced Kryos’ ears like arrows that pounded his mind as the bolts from the heavens, drowning out his own yell. The heat that blossomed outward flowed over the two, his skin surging with the uncomfortable sensation of the biting heat. His right hand threw away his sword, now hot to the touch. All around them raged the flames of the eternal pit, spurned on by the terrible lances of lightning the struck the trees, beating their ears with the thunderous cracks of light and wood alike.
Though the blaze threatened to consume all life, the rain fought with all its power. A continual hiss replaced the pounding noise as steam and smoke rose into the warm, wet air. Kryos staggered to his feet, a wince wrinkling his features as he felt his right arm and neck. The fire’s heat had burned his exposed flesh slightly. Looking to his left, he helped Jericho to his feet. The wet fur relieved his red palm minutely, and to his satisfaction found that the elkin was in no worse condition as he was. As he bent to retrieve his cooling sword, his thoughts turned to action.
“Let’s go.”
He jogged toward the far end of the burning ring of trees; just before the sound wave had flattened him, he saw that this was where the fire had started. It had spread in a blink of an eye. Such power was a force to be reckoned with.
He came to a stop before the wall of wood, vine, leaves, and fire. The unceasing downpour had little effect against the snarling flames; they had died only slightly in the rainfall. His eyes scanned for a path clear of fire, one that they both could navigate without undue harm. As he reached up to sheath his sword, he heard Jericho’s approach.
The elkin stared at the barrier in apprehension, warm brown eyes seeming to shrink smaller and smaller. His mouth was open and his matted fur shone with reflected, tangerine light, one hand raised to shield his eyes from the glare. The man shook his head, sending water droplets to join their brethren as they fell from his mighty antlers, and his hand tightened on his slender staff. Whether from fear, uncertainty, or disbelief, Kryos wasn’t sure.
“After you,” he said, gesturing with his head.
The elkin glanced at him, briefly, before looking back. “You go first. I’ll catch up.”
“Very well, then.” Stepping forward, he readied himself, making sure his equipment was secure. “Don’t take too long,” he murmured before jumping into the air toward the charred, flaming branches.
He scaled the obstacle quickly, using his speed, agility, and power to their fullest. His body twisted, spun, and exploded with energy as he leaped from place to place, through flames and wood alike. Sparks constantly showered into his vision and bursted from his quick, sure steps on the weakened branches; he was weary to linger too long on any limb. As he climbed higher, his sensitized skin burned, first a warm simmer, then erupting into a purging heat as if his arm and face danced with flames. Adrenaline surged to his legs and he jumped clear of the licking fire into the rain, enjoying the second of wind and blessed coolness before coming back to meet the inferno. His body hurtled upwards, limbs a blur with the speed at which he rose. Within the span of several moments, he landed near the summit. He turned and, for a fraction of a second, took one last glance at Jericho. The elkin hadn’t moved in the brief time lapse–eyes still wide and staring at the flaming mass of trees. The smoke obscured him slightly, and the rain further shielded him from view. He was a shadow in the light of the fire, barely existent. Before his eyes had left the haunting image, Kryos dove through a thin veil of orange tongues and dark, grasping fingers which tried to hold him to the burning stake.
His descent was swifter than the journey upwards, and soon he found himself with unrelenting, warm soil beneath his feet once again. Without pausing, he reentered the confines of the jungle, sure in his footing, even with the dimming of the passionate light. Jericho had said he would catch up, and Kryos would trust that. He knew that, as inexperienced as the elkin was at combat, he would not be abandoned. Jericho would not leave him.
All around, heaven-sent rain fell from the boiling sky–webbed with lashing lightning–and showered the canopy of the jungle in rolling sheets, pouring in streams off the huge leaves and drenching the mist-covered ground below. The furious snarls from the clouds that shook the earth and reverberated in his lean form masked any sound of his passing as he swept through the dense undergrowth like a wraith. As his distance from the fire’s light increased, it was only at the whim of the storm’s might that the pervading darkness revealed its true form, one full of mystery and danger.
He felt good, eager for a chance to prove his worth and stretch his limits. Although lightly scathed, the blessed coolness of the rain soothed his slightly seared skin and steadied his nerves. All that mattered now was finding his enemies without coming to further harm in the process, for they were formidable foes, no doubt. And though the insects had, for the most part, been dissuaded from venturing out, the treacherous plants always warned of danger. His legs pumped beneath him while his glowing silver eyes scouted for the trial he should take through the serrated leaves, infectious weeds, and the menacing thorns that waited on their respective vines for a misplaced step that would send the dwiilar careening into their piercing clutches.
Fairly sure that he was going in the right direction–traveling parallel to a trail of dying flames that lead back to the clearing of burning trees–he nimbly avoided all obstacles in his path, though the rain constantly tried to obscure his vision as it raced down his soaking hair and face. Shaking his head to dislodge the flowing rivulets whenever it happened, he cursed the wicked humor of the Cabal. How he would enjoy a battle without a cloudburst and overwhelming shadows to hide the sun. Although, a challenge meant that he would, perhaps, become stronger.
He skipped to a stop, heart hammering in his chest at the sudden flood of anxiety and anticipation that accompanied the prelude to battle. One of his adversaries had come into the range of his heightened sense about a hundred meters off, crouched in a tree. Unease swept through him at the appearance of the unknown, but regardless, he took off in the direction of his target.
The jungle grew thicker, and his progress reflected the slowing of pace. Impassible sections of the jungle often confronted him, and he used all of his creativity, agility, and physical might to overcome, leaping off tree trunks and swinging from low branches. He considered for a moment of taking to the branches above, before rejecting the idea. It would be safer on the ground, as slow as it was, although he regretted his choice as he fell into the wet, slimy, fusty mud and a thick, thorn-defended vine when his foot slipped on an invisible puddle. The cuts on his left arm and chest smarted badly, as if the foul miasma that covered the lower ground infected it on impact. Luckily, the wounds were shallow and required no immediate attention. Wiping the mud and moss stains from his shirt, pants, and sheath, he continued on, closing in toward his prey.
When he finally laid eyes on his opponent, a breathless gasp escaped from his lungs.
The thing was hunched up in a crouch not far from the ground, supported by a huge, warped branch of a tree. But it wasn’t the weapons that glinted dull-gray in the pitch, nor the mask of darkness that the giant’s hood cast over his face. It was the sheer size of the man, if it could be called so. The position in which the titan waited hid the true size and power which dwelt in his frame, but Kryos knew that this person was easily seven feet tall. And what was worse, it seemed that his approach hadn’t been as unnoticed as he had hoped. Like a boulder rolling off a cliff, the man stepped off his perch and thudded to the ground. Straightening like a leviathan rising from the deep, he began to walk toward Kryos, slowly unstrapping his monstrous weapon–something that closely resembled a lance–from his back. The polearm was, if it were possible, taller than the figure who held it. It was as if Kryos was outmatched in size in every possible way. Luckily for him, he didn’t need size to win.
With a screech, he unsheathed his blade once more, bringing to life the soft white glow of the enchantment upon the edge. If the divine magic had any effect upon his enemy remained to be seen. Kryos checked his range once more, looking for the accomplice, but found no one. Satisfied that he wouldn’t be ambushed, he went out to meet the warrior.
With a flash of lightning, he stopped, as did the being before him. They sized each other up in the darkness, nothing but the dying thunder and the falling rain to feel the tension in the air. Kryos eyed the weapon across from him–the three foot long blade and the longer, most likely heavy, shaft. Strength wouldn’t win him this fight. Cunning would. Speed was his ally, one that he needed to hide until the time was right.
Another paint stroke of ethereal light blazed across the sky, and Kryos charged.
Sparks flew as weapon grinded against weapon, the impact shaking his arms. He pulled back and struck again, putting all of his force in the downward slash. The blow was blocked again, and the behemoth pushed away the sword as if it were nothing more than silk, before countering. He swung his instrument of war, letting the shaft slide through his tree-like fingers. The blade whistled through the air and would have claimed the dwiilar’s head if he hadn’t ducked at the last second. Kryos darted forward, trying to get inside his attacker’s guard, coming in with an upward attack. That too, was stopped, this time with the dull thunking of wood. The shaft of the warrior’s weapon hadn’t even chipped. Without warning, the blunt end of the bladed pole slammed into his chest.
Getting to his feet, he fought for breath before blocking a thrust meant to end his life. Flashes of steel sliced the dripping air, and he tried to keep just ahead of the giant’s movement, always watching the pale hands, looking for an opening, trying to stay one step ahead. Both warriors drew labored breath as the silent contest continued with only the snapping of lightning telling the passage of time in the chaos of battle.
Slash! Follow up. Stay ahead. Thrust! Parry. Reposition and go!
With a growing realization, he noticed that his opponent was slowly taking the offensive. It was as if he had been measuring Kryos’ strength this entire time. Calculating, plotting. Now, they exchanged blows equally, water splashing from the growing puddles and flinging outward from their clothes, threatening to steal their footing at the first chance. He needed to end this immediately, while he still had the strength. His limbs began to feel the slight ache from such powerful blows, and his right arm and hand burned slightly with the adrenaline and blood that surged through his body. In contrast, his attacker seemed to draw strength from a limitless reservoir, muscles sure and powerful. He ducked another blow, keeping his eyes on his target, and for an instant that was accompanied by a flash of lightning, saw twin gray eyes glare at him from within the shroud of the hood.
So similar to my own . . .
Spinning his long weapon to his left side, the brute attacked again, his blade racing straight toward Kryos’ heart. The swordsman’s silver eyes flashed brightly, reading the move even before it came close to his flesh. More importantly, he saw the way the giant’s hands were gripping his tool of destruction. He hopped back, keeping just inches from the blade, and brought up his muandrian, guiding the enemy blade safely to the side. Then, Kryos struck with all the speed he could muster. The distance between them closed within a split second and, sword shining as a terrible fang from the heavens, Kryos thrust his blade toward the exposed left side of his prey, eyes gleaming with the excitement to feel his weapon slide through flesh and past bone to steal the life of the colossal being.
Last edited by Kryos; 03-19-09 at 03:42 AM.
To the dawn we ride alone
Face the terror in your soul
To the death of flesh and bone
To the kindred cast in stone
Through a night so cold and long
As the miles take their toll
Ride as one, O vengeful throng
Fly to arms, ten thousand strong
Within the amaranthine darkness, cast asunder for breathless moments by the casual cruelty of the furious skies, two warriors fought for supremacy, their strikes shaking the earth to great trepidation. Yet in the last, the chanced hand of Loki’s malice fell true; a lone blade, forged of some metal in lands unknown to the soldiers of Thor’s pursuit, nevertheless felled the great dvergr, Hvastillitr. The gods shouted their protest; thunder bellowed unceasingly across the land, gaining in terrible power and majesty with each mounting second. Freyja, in whatever distant land she currently walked, fell to her knees in sorrow, without fully knowing why; the god of fertility echoed the rage of the forest, many worlds away, which likewise felt angered at the death of the Elect.
A father’s march with sister’s son
Across the lands of barren sod
Brothers all in battles won
Arise till deeds of tale are done
Leaving hard the mountains fair
Across the land we seldom trod
To spiteful blood and morning rare
Fly to arms, where devils dare
The earth shook, echoed by the trees suddenly thrashing about in agony, joining with the thunder in its majestic cacophony. Animals great and small wailed in consternation, lamenting the passing of one as noble as the dwarf; the very land was alight in impotent rage, trumpeting and railing against itself to pound out a death tattoo for Till. Lightning fell from the heavens in great sheets, striking great furrows in the earth. It intersected the forest, creating a circle of magnificence a thousand feet distant from the body of the dvergr as it fell; the furious beat of earth and sky rose to crescendo, fully engulfed in the sorrow of passing. Finally, with startling quickness, silence prevailed. The frenetic music fell to malevolent quietude, stifled in an instant to mimic the passing from life to death.
Elect of Thor, mighty kin
Curse the blade of foreign steel
Passed in rage of thund’rous din
Kiss of earth ‘round ashen skin
March upon the open earth
Pray for slaughter’s hand to deal
Out from land of solemn birth
Of favored son, bereft and dearth
Atop the branches of the Yggdrasil, Thor sat within his fortress of Bilskirnir, entertaining his brother, Tyr. About him, a multitude of servants completed the work of restoring the halls to their state before the vengeance of Hvastillitr, repairing both the damage done by his sabotage and the lengthy battle between the dwarf and the Lawmaker, whom Thor had summoned to enact his vengeance upon the impudent dvergr. A distant rumbling noise filled the air, growing in intensity for several long seconds before falling abruptly silent; moments later, a winged valkyrie dove from the sky, finding entry through one of the few remaining holes within the ceiling. Prostrating itself before the mighty god, it whispered its tale, a chilling recitation of the recent deeds of those whom Thor had placed upon the pursuit of the Whole Glory.
Vengeance won for fathers slain
A sabotage both fair and bold
‘Cursed,’ said he, ‘let honor wane’
‘Tis fair indeed, in wrath be slain’
For in his crimes, a solemn day
With silent breath let gods behold
Under Lawmaker’s mighty sway
Life in loss, let honor pray
With a mighty roar, Thor rose from his throne; his anger had been kindled as had not happened in many thousands of years. His eyes blazed with palpable fury, alight and wroth, while his brother looked on in smoldering rage, sharing in the emotions of his kin. Thor Jotunslayer, mightiest warrior of the Aesir, awoke to a mind of murder and destruction, furious at both the loss of the warrior and at his failure alike. For three days, he rained lightning down upon the dvergr of the north, caring not that he kindled their wrath against Asgard; his vengeance was served upon the people for the failures of their kin, and his mind was once again at ease.
Fury borne of Thor’s defeat
Fire kindled of molten skies
Kindred fled for halls to meet
Fearing wrath no mind may cheat
So now upon this fateful day
Hear the call of battle cries
For Hvastillitr’s death we gladly slay
Thus we march, so far way
[hr]
Thus he died; Hvastillitr, dvergr of the north, Elect of Thor, brother in arms of Honuse Relaiyent, honored and worthy above all. Such were the songs of his passing, as Thor’s wrath kindled the hearts of the dwarves to battle, though such events would not pass to fruition for many score of days. Deep within the unfettered jungle, the silence of Till’s passing held true for many long moments; even the rain appeared to have ceased. Of such events, Honuse Relaiyent was only aware in the barest sense of understanding. His actions of minutes past had so thoroughly tired the man that he forced himself to undergo a healing trace, focusing his mind inward to replenish the spent energy. Electricity flowed with his blood, igniting it within his muscles, urging them to greater strength as would be needed soon.
His body slowly healed, even as the rain began once more with renewed fury. The oceans could not have been removed to the skies with greater effect than the vigorous downpour that now beset the land. The still reverence for the fallen passed as dreams in the mist, leaving no trace but the bitter anxiety that brooded eternally within the grove where Till died. Feeling sharp awareness return to his mind, the Lawmaker extended his perceptions once more beyond his own withering shelter; it was at this point that he found the still corpse of his companion, lying below the feet of one of the interlopers. With a sadistic reverence, the giant recognized the fate of the dvergr, and bore a moment of mixed quietude and subtle gloating in honor of the event. Yet no such honor would be complete without a second slaying to accompany the warrior to whatever fate lay before him.
Recognizing that the decaying aura about the dwarf had not yet faded, as traces of vitality still lingered in the corpse, Honuse Relaiyent moved swiftly. With a gentle touch of his mind, the abomination located the wellspring of that contemptible energy, and, with minute alterations to the molecular composition of Till’s muscle tissue, formed a potently destructive weapon. Another casual touch held the skin down, igniting the oxygen-rich tissues around the target zone. They exploded inward, compressing the gaseous residue of death; it reacted with volatility, detonating into a cloud of thick grey smoke, resisting the downpour to maintain cohesion in the open air.
The biological fog, acting not as a disease but as an airborne corrosive, reacted to dense concentrations of matter. Affected constructions, whether wood, metal, or flesh, reacted roughly the same; it appeared to age at an advanced rate, to the point of losing years within seconds of exposure. The intense oxygenation of the corrosive self-replicated, turning all hydrogen into oxygen that it contacted, until separation from the initial propellants introduced adaptive mutations that failed to produce the same results. As such, the explosive cloud traveled outwards a dozen feet in every direction from the corpse, though the aging effect would only work for a matter of seconds, resulting in the equivalent of twenty years being effectively added to any targets.
Though his face remained passive behind the petrified wood surrounding it, the Lawmaker truly considered smiling; it was a fitting end for such an ultimately worthless companion. Perhaps Thor would be more apt to recognize Honuse Relaiyent’s self-reliance in the future; though Till would be missed for the service he could have rendered, the abomination could not deny his preference for hunting alone.
-
Jericho lay under the wash of heat, a heavy tide measured by the throbbing echoes the explosion had left in his skull. Sparks bit like flies as they settled on his fur, and he clamped his eyes shut, the blast's blue afterimage boiling on the inside of his eyelids as claws of ash raked through his lungs. His shocked eardrums beat their fists against his brain, couldn't think, couldn't think—
He lifted himself to his hands and knees, opened his eyes and clenched them shut, blinded by the night's eruption into flame. A touch on his right shoulder. He took the hand, gasping for breath as he pulled himself upright, lifting his staff from the muddy tangle of the jungle floor. Cracking his eyes open, he squinted against the mad tarantella of the flames.
“Let's go.” Sharp words cut through the conflagration's roar, and Kryos jogged ahead. On quaking legs, Jericho followed.
He lifted an arm to block the heat from his face. The explosion had singed the fur on his left side but spared him further harm, save the ringing in his ears. Flames thrashed on every side, cackling at the rain's attempts to subdue them. Kryos stopped at the barricade's edge, showing no sign of discomfort in the blistering heat.
Jericho slowed to a stop somewhat behind his companion, struggling to hold on to his breath as the flames sucked away the air. Somewhere beneath the fire's ragged roar, he could almost hear a growling, bellowing voice. Behind the tongues of the inferno, he thought he could see colossal bodies flailing, thought he felt the pounding in his head reaching with long fingers down his veins into his core—
He shut his eyes and shook his head, trying to loosen the thick weave of the smoke and rot-smell with his antlers, trying to clear his mind.
“After you.” Kryos nodded toward the fire. Jericho looked from him to the flames.
Breathe. Breathe, and listen.
He reached out with his spirit. He cried out to the One who named the stars, the One by whose power Gavin slew the giant. He lifted his plea to the Oldest Name, the Only, the Opener of Doors, the One who had cleared every path to bring him this far.
And he heard nothing in reply.
He swallowed, clamping his left hand in a death grip on the staff lest his quivering show. “You go first,” he said, surprised by the volume of his own voice. “I'll catch up.”
“Very well, then.” Kryos stepped toward the blockade like a man walking toward the doorway of his home, becoming a shadow wreathed in orange dragonsbreath. “Don't take too long.” And then he was leaping, turning, slipping through the flames as he might weave through a crowded square.
Then the elkin was alone.
He took a deep breath and coughed, the sludgy stench of burnt decay clinging to his ribs like oil. But despite the mauling of his lungs, he stretched his free hand out against the fire.
“In the name of the One,” he wheezed, “let the way be made clear!”
The tremendous pop of a bursting gas pocket loosed a swarm of sparks into the sky, and a new, larger flame licked its way up out of the opening in the wood.
Please... His outstretched arm began to tremble. Please, hear me!
Another crack of dark amusement split the timber, and a hollow silence flowed through his blood, spreading darkness at the corners of his vision. His staff suddenly felt heavy.
“In the name of the Victorious, I defy you! In the name of the One, let me pass!”
Something moved. Something bigger, deeper than the fire, than the jungle—in his spirit, he felt it turn with the immensity and depth of an ageless thing, sensed it spiral out and converge with wide arms on the obstacle before him.
But this was not Light. It was Shadow.
A second blast rocked the glade and threw Jericho backwards onto the earth. The flames roared, driven to frenzy, leaping from the tree trunks to the blanched undergrowth in front of them. Jericho's heart went mad, too shocked to hold a steady beat, and though the inferno scorched his retinas, he could not bring himself to close his eyes.
A Face.
It leered at him through the gaps in the blaze, bared its teeth, licked its maw with tongues of fire. The void of its eyes struck Jericho's soul dumb of all thought save recognition: a Stronghold. A Presence. One of the enormous behemoths of shadow he had felt moving over Kebiras when he had first arrived, now not a distant, foreboding body brushing the edges of his spirit but a ravenous, giant beast, holding him trapped between claws of fire.
The face offered a final sneer of malice before slipping into hiding. Sudden pain bit Jericho's fingers—he bugled in alarm and leapt to his feet. The fire had spread from the confines of the barrier, advancing by some power over the damp mess of the undergrowth.
He snatched up his staff, adrenaline pouring into his muscles and his mind. He sprinted to the side of the cage Kryos had scaled, lifting his cloak from his shoulders and leaving only his light tunic and breeches to bear the brunt of the heat. Beating his way through the ground fire with the soaked garment, he thrust his quarterstaff into the blaze like a spear, sweeping it from side to side, breaking away what branches he could. The fireline drew closer behind him. He threw the staff as a javelin over the wall, took one step back—
Even in the face of the fire, he felt the hot tears running over his muzzle. Please, Father, if you can hear me—he stretched his hand once more toward the blockade—let the way be made clear.
The flames chortled their mockery.
His arm quaked, and he slowly clenched his hand into a fist. As the fire drew around his ankles, he loosed all his breath in a single bellow against the night, the fire, the Face, and the heavens' silence, charging with all the strength his legs would offer. At the last moment he cast his cloak before him onto the wood, leapt, stepped, pushed off, crossed his arms over his face, flew, saw the flames parting, saw the cool darkness beyond—
—cried out as his antlers nearly tore themselves from his skull, seized in the talons of a tangled tree branch. His momentum threw his legs out in front of him, and he fell on his back to the timber.
He screamed and thrashed as the fire ate through the canvas of the tunic, tore away the weave of his breeches and started on his skin. He flailed his arms blindly, seeing only red as the air filled with burnt fur and flesh. Somewhere over his own screams he heard snapping, somewhere beyond the searing pain felt wood breaking under the writhing of his arms.
Then he fell.
He tumbled from the gnarled wall still screaming, rolling over the vines and moss to extinguish the fire clinging to his fur. His howls died with the flames until he lay still on the earth, steaming and sobbing. Pushing himself to his hands and knees, he felt no Light coming to cool the burns, and that made the tears run freer. Ignoring the ripping of his skin, he got to his feet, turned toward the fire, and lifted his face to the sky.
“Why will you not answer!” he bellowed. “Why did you leave?”
His throat went hoarse, and he turned around.
The flames cast his shadow, huge and monstrous, on the backdrop of the trees.
He roared again, lifted his hand, summoned the Light to come and blot out his darkness. But no light came, and the Giant leered down at him, speaking wordlessly, You know why.
Tears spent, the elkin's shoulders sagged. He knelt to retrieve his staff and had to use it to push himself upright again. Drawing the rod close to his torso, he curled his neck to his chest, and despite his burns and the waves of heat rolling from the fallen trees behind him, he shivered.
Risking a final, hateful glance at the monster in the trees, he turned away from it. Kryos was nowhere to be seen. Stripped of all protections, he headed at an angle into the darkness of the jungle—very much on his own.
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Last edited by Jericho; 03-20-09 at 03:22 AM.
When the night is at its darkest, look upon the eastern sky. The Light is on its way. ((ToC Profile))
Even as the airborne corrosive decayed within itself, Honuse Relaiyent noted a second form moving through the trees, angling towards the rough area of where he stood hidden. Confidently, as he knew that the one who had slain Till did not at present know his location, the Lawmaker slowly began altering his camouflage, using the minimum amount of concentration and strength required for the task. As he did not have the benefit of cover once his strategy was enacted, his actions required a certain frugality to remain practical in the ever-changing field of battle.
A low sigh escaped his lips as fresh adrenaline coursed through his veins. His will embraced the surrounding tree, subtly moving the petrified wood closest to his body upward, freeing enough room for him to turn around, to access the weapons cast about his person. It did not take long to gain such a space, as the bole was already thick enough to accommodate his bulk. Satisfied, the giant removed four of the long, thin daggers that hung across his ribs on either side, taking two in each hand. Placing them at chest height in a four-pointed star around him, the abomination crouched low to the ground once they were set.
With an intense crackling, lightning fled the Lawmaker’s skeleton, pressing itself in a thin sheet against the inside of the trunk. It stayed there, building up in power throughout the opening, as smaller tendrils penetrated cracks within the thicker sections above. As the power reached climax, it expanded outwards with tremendous force, using magnetic propulsion to destroy the petrified wood encasing it. As it detonated, the knives fixed within the wooden shell similarly flew outward, focusing the electricity between them in an ever-widening circle; for a hundred feet in all directions, electricity ignited flammable objects, while the petrified wood splinters acted as high-velocity spears. The carnage was over within seconds, yet the aftereffects lingered on in the form of falling leaves, and flames smothered by the ever-present downpour.
In the epicenter, Honuse Relaiyent stood alone, calmly removing a pair of short swords, one from behind each of his calves. The smoke of his gaze once again moved freely in the open air, creating ghostly images about the decimated forest; the lightning flooded his mind with brightness, giving rare clarity to the shapes he perceived. With the rain falling on his masked face, he stalked through the underbrush, seeking any sign of his enemies – or at least of their remains.
Out of Character:
He felt something. Something that was not the Voice but that told him something was wrong. A prickle on his fur, a tension in his muscles, a hush among the trees like the jungle holding its breath—
—a CRACK like the earth's bones breaking, a flash like a scream of the sun, and reflex alone saved him, throwing him into a crouch behind a thick tree trunk as whipts of shrapnel tore through the foliage. The blue cast of lightning faded to amber fire as the first boom subsided into the dying squeals of burning plant life.
For a moment, panic and adrenaline locked the elkin's muscles in a rigor mortis, but once his heart recovered its cadence, he breathed, and peeked around his refuge.
No...
A giant stalked through the fires left by the blast, silhouetted by a halo of flames. Like a monstrous dog sniffing for carrion, he searched. Blades extended from his very arms, and he swung them with a grotesque grace bred of a lion's bottomless hunger and a dancer's thoughtful precision.
Jericho spun behind the tree again, blotting out the screams of his cauterized back against the bark. No, no, no... He had nothing. Nothing left—he was a child coming at a rabid dog with a stick. He shuddered and looked skyward, but the canopy was too thick here to see the stars. Why will you not help me?
He dropped his chin to his chest. The behemoth's footsteps reverberated through the soil and the tree trunk, coming ever closer, resounding against the hollow in Jericho's marrow, shaking the shattered pieces of his spirit—
And then one of those pieces broke loose, rattling down through the empty places of his abandonment until it lodged, sparked, and started to burn.
No.
He would not lay down to die. If the monster, the shadow in his soul had separated him from the Voice, then he would fight it, he would fight it with everything, and he would kill it or die trying.
The fire in his spirit grew, spreading warmth into his limbs. He took one hand from his staff and planted it on the ground to steady himself as he stood—then he stopped, looked down, and smiled. A small pile of smooth stones lay there beneath the vines, as though someone had left them there for future use.
His breeches had long fallen away, but a scrap of his tunic remained. He tore the carcass of the fabric from his shoulders—it was little more than a jagged strip with charred edges, but it seemed sturdy. It was enough.
He gathered a few of the rocks, holding them in the same hand as his staff as he stood. Holding the two ends of the fabric strip in his other hand, he fit a stone into the loop.
He sucked a deep breath of the rotted air. The vine-wrapped trees of the jungle leered at him in the flickers of the fires, a myriad mass of shadowed Faces—one of them bore a mask of terror, with shining green eyes. But he stared back defiantly. Any fear that remained in his heart was vastly outshone by the blaze of his rage.
No more running. No more hiding. I don't care how big the shadow in me is. I will fight it, and one of us will die. His spirit flared, and somewhere beneath its blaze, he thought he felt a hint of the Light.
He spun the sling in a slow circle as he rounded the tree toward his foe. The giant looked up as though it were not at all surprised to see him, and it raised its arms to the ready.
The sling raced in faster and faster arcs, the heat in Jericho's blood fueling it with a strength the elkin had forgotten he possessed. The force and weight of it swelled in his arm and in his soul, and all the jungle, all the fires, fell away, save the face of the Shadow Giant, the Face of years of guilt and self-loathing, the Face of his sin.
With a roar of fury and determination that outweighed every fear and doubt, Jericho loosed the stone, followed through, stepped forward with the strike—
With a flick of a bladed wrist nearly too fast to see, the giant batted the projectile aside.
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Last edited by Jericho; 03-18-09 at 05:46 PM.
When the night is at its darkest, look upon the eastern sky. The Light is on its way. ((ToC Profile))
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