Darlin’s spear hissed forward in a perfect arc, only moments before its twin came in from Parlin’s side, but that was all, Ymra needed. She parried with her own spear and quickly (sloppy) stepped to the side, before twisting her stance and jabbing Darlin in the ribs with the wooden end of her weapon. Surprised more so than hurt, Darlin moves his attention away from the actual fight and onto his hurting ribcage. Foolish. Completely disregarding the worried eyes of the onlookers, the rest of their branch, she stepped up on Darlin’s now exposed knee, breaking his stance and causing him a lot more pain than a sore chest. He always did have an issue focusing especially when presented with a small distraction. One time at a Summer’s Eve feast, Ymra had seen him making a lot of promises to a seemingly random girl from another branch, only to completely ignore her the moment Alera, the prettiest girl in the entire tribe, stepped into the hut. It was Darlin’s big weakness, just as uncontrolled anger was his sister’s.
“Brother!”, yelled Parlin. They were all brothers and sisters in the branch, but Darlin and Parlin shared blood and had always been inseparable. Now Parlin rushed to avenge her twin, spear raised high like a very angry and very impatient viper. She leapt over Darlin, who was on the ground clutching his knee tight, and attempted to strike at Ymra, who barely (pathetically) sidestepped it, even though she saw it coming. Parlin roared and swung the spear overhead, only to be met by a deflecting strike. Ymra countered with a jab to Parlin’s side, anticipating a dash forward as a means of evasion, but instead the other girl stepped towards Ymra and landed a kick in her abdomen. Parlin clearly didn’t hold back, but neither did Ymra. She never did. She blocked the next two attacks with relative ease, but she knew, she wouldn’t be able to parry all the attacks coming from the mindless Parlin. What advantage did she have? She was not going to lose to Parlin, of all people. She didn’t find an answer before the pummeling of her (imperfect) defense had her swirling around on her back foot, attempting to retain balance.
Of course (you should have seen it)! Darlin was currently the twins’ weaker root, and Ymra intended for the hole tree to come tumbling down. The boy had slowly begun to rise, but in two steps and a kick, Ymra had him on his stomach again. He grunted in pain. She paid him no mind. They were branch-siblings, which meant they competed and pushed each other to their limits. He would scuff at her during their evening meal, maybe refuse to speak to her, but most of the branch did that already. Parlin and Darlin despised her for her superiority, Egira always looked hurt, Demur was an idiot and didn’t comprehend anything, she said, and Tasar was afraid of her, of that she was certain. Only Ern, the Stonearse he was called (a mockery of you), spoke to her, laughed at her quips and understood the competitiveness, which was the spirit of Niq culture. He was probably the only one, who didn’t look at this sparring match with disapproval, hate or fear. She imagined his eyes radiating curiosity and marvel at her ingenuity. In the back of her mind, even as she prepared to spring her trap for Parlin, she smiled. She had never really cared to impress anyone, only to prove herself the best and quench that nagging voice of doubt in her mind, but Stonearse’s approval and… affection, if she was so lucky (you don’t deserve that, weakling), was a prize, she wouldn’t mind.
The line of thought seized to exist as Parlin yelled at her. “What are you doing?!” The yell was not as much a question as it was an expression of disbelief. It was, in fact, obvious what she was doing. She held Darlin’s right arm by the wrist with one hand while applying pressure to his elbow with the other. Her spear laid neatly on the spring-green grass next to her. It would not be needed to end this.
“Put down your spear, or Darlin’s arms snaps.” It felt pointless to say, but Ymra wasn’t certain Parlin’s mind worked well enough to figure it out on its own. The would-be viper spread her arms in appeal.
“He is our brother! Do you care so little for our branch that you would hurt him just to win a sparring match?” Parlin tried to sound as tender as possible, but Ymra could feel the instinctual desire to pounce in the words. It was a nice, albeit clumsy, attempt of emotional manipulation, but it was not a game, she could win. Ymra was certain, Parlin would break before Darlin’s arm, so she put a little more weight onto the already fully strained joint as a respond to the plea. The boy made a face, but to his credit, he didn’t scream. Parlin, on the other hand, looked like she was about to cry.
“Surrender, Parlin”, Ymra commanded with an icy tone. Parlin snarled and moved her feet slightly but in the end, she complied. Her spear fell to the grassy floor with a heavy thump, which made a few birds take flight in the outskirts of the large meadow, the Niq used for training. Ymra’s heart expanded a bit before falling back into its normal rhythm, her typical response to victory. A small smile even danced on her lips, when she let go of Darlin, gaze still locked on his sister, who rushed to help him. He wasn’t hurt, though, so Ymra left the Snake’s Eyes to themselves and turned to find Ern’s eyes instead. The rest of the branch all sat on a hollowed-out trunk placed in the shadow of the great tucum-trees that inhabited most of the forest. Egira, or Egi as she insisted on them calling her, sat between Dum-Dum, the halfwit (that was almost too generous) and Greentoe, the coward. It seemed fitting for the branch’s self-proclaimed peacekeeper and maternal figure to take care of those children. She had that despicable, righteous look on her face that she only whipped out, when she was about to root out a problem in their behavior, which there always was an abundance off, apparently. Dum-Dum’s attention was caught by a butterfly that Ymra had to admit was quite beautiful, while Tasar sat with his shoulders leaning forward in a very unenergetic position. If Ymra knew him at all, and she did, he was probably thinking about running of to that favorite swamp of his, the one, whose waters had earned him his nickname, Greentoe. Ern, though, was nowhere to be found. Disappointing.
While walking back to the village, seated comfortably amidst the enormous trees of the Krathen forest, Ymra’s victory slowly turned hollow. It wasn’t the first time, this had happened, nor did she expect it to be the last, but even a hollow victory was far better than defeat. Egira always tried to convince her that winning their training competition wasn’t at all important or meaningful, that she would find happiness in their branch and in the spirits of the forest, but how could she know anything about Ymra’s needs? She had to quench the voice in the back of her head by proving herself repeatedly, because if she didn’t, who would she be?
Right?
(Of course)
The village unfolded itself in front of them, a collection of huts, large in comparison to the other Niq settlements, Ymra had been told, arranged in a circle around the Nightfire. That was where they were headed. Around it, other Niq tribesmen and -women had already started preparing for tonight’s feast, which was to be hold in the honor of a hunter, who had just returned from a pilgrimage to the sacred tree, Niquol, and was thus prepared to take the mantle of Dreamer once the current one would rejoin the wilds. Ymra didn’t like being forced to praise others, but at least she would get to eat some of the best game, the hunters had killed.
They found Stonearse in the outer circle of benches, sitting with a cup of eom in one hand and a piece of venison in the other, his face spilling over with content and glee. Ymra made to sit down next to him, but Egi proved quicker for ones. Ymra had to settle with sitting next to Tasar and sipping her eom. She didn’t feel any of Ern’s satisfaction from drinking the nectar, and the meat turned out to be dull.
(It’s not like you deserved any of it anyway).
She wanted to be alone.
This was going to be a long evening.
One look at Gerren would show you an elderly, gray-haired man, but should your gaze linger a little while longer, you would start to notice the strength, with which the hunter moved, and the scars of many a long night in the Krathen forest. Despite all this, though, he still felt like a young man, running around Selma’s Bay looking for trouble.
Gerren had been kneeling in front of a statue of Saint Selma in the Grand Cathedral in Marhen, the largest of the Three Cities, but his already limited piety was interrupted, when one of his nameless recruits entered the communion chamber.
“Captain.”
Stolen story; please report.
“Recruit.”
“An enormous beast has been sighted just beyond the northern border of Old Port, sir. Your attention has been requested, sir.” The recruit folded his hands behind his back and stood just a little taller. Gerren had a sneaking suspicion that the young man just overcame some fear, he might have had prior to coming here. Good. Hunters faced their nightmares every night, so they might as well start training now.
The only difference being, of course, that Gerren would never eat the recruit alive.
“Well then. I was just about done here anyway. What is the point of asking a saint for guidance, if she never answers?” The recruit, of course, didn’t answer. Banter had no place in the minds of most hunters, sadly.
Gerren reached the edge of the Krathen as the moon was hanging low in the sky above him. It was a chilling night, perfect for a hunt. The air itself seemed pale, and yet it could have been blood-red in comparison to the faces of the men and women gathered before him. He saw experienced hunters with their enchanted blades and grim expressions, but also green boys and young women. He sighed to himself. Thank Selma, there wasn’t any little girls among the crowd this time. He didn’t think, he would have the strength to carry another one of those home.
“Huntress! Report!” he barked at one of his officers.
The woman saluted him and said: “A group of Tyren has been spotted just north of here, captain. And what is worse; they were seen in the company of a blue wolf.”
Gerren cringed. A blue wolf? This close to the Three Cities? It had been years since he had hunted one of those, and that had been a sore mistake, the kind one does not atone for. While they died quite easily, blue wolfs could slaughter an entire hunting party in minutes. “What are those insectoid bastards doing with a blue wolf? They should be natural enemies. This doesn’t make any sense. Do we know anything else?”
“No, sir.”
“Hmmm. Then I guess, we must find out.”
A visible tension spread amongst the gathered townsfolk, who fancied themselves hunters; the real hunters, on the other hand, remained as composed as ever.
Good. Survival had thought them a thing or two.
“Listen up! In a moment, we will be entering the Krathen in search of these Tyren and the beast that they are with. We will hunt them down and kill them in defense of our loved ones here in the cities. Know that if you decide to join our party, however, you will likely die tonight.” The crowd did a collective swallow as he said that, but he felt better not lying to these poor fellows. “Now is the time to make the choice. Will you join the hunt?”
Slowly a few people stood up and walked away from the edge of the forest and back to civilization. Then more followed, probably content that they didn’t have to be the first ones to show cowardice. Gerren couldn’t blame them. Facing a blue wolf, even though many of them likely didn’t know, what a blue wolf was, wasn’t the sort of experience, people fantasied about. Or at least, they would prefer it staying a fantasy.
A few minutes later and all that was left of the crowd, was a few women, a couple of lads and the hunters that served under Gerren’s command. “All right,” he said, drawing his sword. “Tonight, we hunt!” The dramatic show did manage to raise some level of spirit among the newcomers but not much more than that, sadly.
And with those words, the party of hunters and recruits embarked on their journey into the Krathen forest with the intent of killing a monster.
Ymra had run away. Not because she had been hurt in any way, as one might assume to be the reason, but because she couldn’t take the sheer stupidity of these children anymore. Egira had attempted to stop a fight between the Snake’s Eyes, even though that was completely normal behavior for Parlin and Darlin, Demur had fallen on his face and started crying helplessly, and Ern just kept on drinking his annoying eom, even when she had invited him to a game of sticks, which they had always had fun playing together
(He was always bored)
So, she had been sitting by herself doing nothing but chewing on meat and dry bread, and eventually she had decided that enough was enough and had left. Egi had sent her that look, which Ymra promptly returned, and left the other girl with the boys and Parlin. Really, Egira should thank her, considering her tendency to treat the branch as a web with herself as the spider and her need to be recognized as such.
Crawling over tree trunks and jumping over streams, Ymra made her way through the Krathen in the opposite direction of her village. She climbed up a massive oak to get a taste of the cool evening air, but in doing so she accidently disturbed a sleeping eagle and its offspring, which resulted in Ymra quickly fleeing the scene, as she sensed the bird-mother’s instinct to defend her children. Back on the ground again, Ymra exhaled slowly. She should probably head back, unless she wanted a full lecture about safety and tradition, not only from Egira, but also from the Hunt-Mother, and she really didn’t want to have to endure another one of those again. It was after she had finished that exact thought that her eyes fell on a set of tracks on the ground.
“Tyren? So close to the village?” Ymra mumbled to herself. The humanoid ants usually kept to themselves in their colonies, but even the closet one was still far away from the village. She had only ever encountered Tyren, when some members of the tribe had gone up north to hunt elk, and she had joined them. There, they had traded some wolf pelts for the mushrooms, the giant ants grew. If they had come this far down south, assuming they were in fact from that particular colony, something must have been seriously wrong. And Ymra intended to find out what that was.
Following the tracks, she soon noticed the presence of other sentient beings in the area. Tracks from the large group of Tyren, obviously, but also a feint light in the distance, which she assumed to be torches. Humans, then. Probably not Niq, since her people preferred to rely on their own ability to see in the dark, so maybe people from the Three Cities? While the Niq had little contact with these people, and Ymra had never met them herself, she knew about them, their reckless behavior and barbarian hunting methods. Once again, she found herself wondering, what a group was doing this close to her village.
The tracks let towards the fire, so instead of following behind the Tyren, Ymra took to the treetops, jumping from branch to branch and swinging across the occasional gap. An hour or so later, she caught up with the Tyren.
And they were in the company of a spirit.
A wolf spirit, to be exact. In human standards, it was enormous, as tall as one-and-a-half large men, and its paws were the size of her head, which she figured, it could take off in one fell swoop. When one of the Tyren called for a halt with a gesture, the wolf spirit howled, and Ymra’s blood froze in her veins. The fire from the humans were gone, so at least they had some sense, but Ymra had an impression of fear on her mind, so she knew, they had to be close by.
Gerren saw the Tyren before anyone else. Well, saw was a bit of an exaggeration, as he had only sensed their instinctual needs through a silent spell, he had casted. He threw up a hand that said “stop” before turning around to face his companions.
“Keep behind me and be ready for anything. Alright?” The faces nodded. “Good. Let’s go!” Enchanted sword in hand, Gerren moved forward with a hunched back and a balanced stance. With his left hand, he drew mana into a key point inside his half-clenched fist. A feint, green light danced there, a physical representation of his magic. Then he saw it.
Of course, he had expected the Tyren, and they came as no surprise to him, but the blue wolf was larger than any, he had ever seen. He was honestly terrified, not that he would ever project that to his recruits or even his hunters, who he imagined would be trembling in their boots at this point. No matter his feelings, though, he knew there was only one thing to do:
“Charge it!”
Gerren thrusted his blade forward and released his spell at the same time. The manastreams flowed through his right arm and leg, carrying them forward faster than he could ever have done himself. With all his weight and magical speed behind it, the silver-edged steel sword found flesh - blue, half-ethereal flesh, that is. That was lucky.
The wolf snarled in, what Gerren inferred to be pain, and pulled back, while some of the Tyren warriors tried to move in on him, but his fellow humans came roaring, before they reached him. While the townsfolk under the leadership of the hunters kept the bastards at bay, Gerren continued his work on the blue wolf. Grapping his sword with both hands, he swung it in a large arc over his head and down on the monster, who was still slowed by the wound in its chest. While blue wolfs didn’t bleed, their body still took damage and could be killed, thankfully, and this attack did most of the work. The wolf - now on the ground - did a low growl, a last act of defiance, before Gerrens weapon pierced its heart, and its flash evaporated into the air. He exhaled slowly. This had gone a lot smoother than expected.
That was what he thought, until he looked up. Out of the dozen or so upcoming recruits, four still stood on their feet. A huntress by the name of Trisha laid on the ground, her intestines ripped out of her guts. She was seemingly the only one of the leather-clad protectors of the Cities, who hadn’t survived the night. So far at least. Respectfully, Gerren closed Trisha’s eyes with his thumb and index finger before turning to inspect the battlefield properly. The Tyren menace were dead, so was the blue wolf and the aforementioned townsfolk and huntress. Next, he cast a quick spell to sense the magical layout of the instincts of the creatures around him, which revealed a mix-match of self-preservation, run, sleep and… wait, what? Gerren looked up into the treetops, and in one fluid motion he leapt into the air using his magic, grabbed a branch and swung himself onto another. He then concentrated his effort on the strange sensation he had felt moments earlier. There, among the leaves!
It was a little girl. Age fifteen, he guessed, and a savage at that.
“Hello there, little one.”
The girl looked up in surprise before taking a battle stance only moments later. Then, like a divine revelation just opened itself for her, she relaxed and said something, Gerren didn’t understand.
“I don’t speak your tongue, I’m afraid, but it matters not.” He rushed forward and grabbed her upper arm and despite her struggles, he was the strongest of the two. “You are coming with us.”