Seriously, how long is it going to take for the venom to fade?

Thu’lain was past irritation and was starting to enter a stage he had heard called “morbid fascination.” He was making sure to carefully catalogue how the sensations, or lack of, changed over time.

I need to harvest one of those stingers. If the venom works on other apex, this could open up fantastic options.

He would be ecstatic, if not for the centaur that were - still - in the area.

Too stubborn.

Thu’lain had moved earlier, since the trail of his blood had given away his last position, and was waiting for the right moment to climb up into a tree, though climbing with only his arms would be suboptimal. He opted to rely on camouflage to remain hidden for now, but the centaur had gotten close a few times because of their use of grid searches.

He’d heard some of the other centaur whispering that the chieftain was in a frenzy because his children had been attacked by an elf.

Hm, explains the illogical commitment of lives and resources to continue searching for me. If only they could be more reasonable.

Thu’lain idly wondered how a conversation with Marcel would go.

Badly.

Still, he was starting to consider options strictly for his own amusement; he’d long ago discovered the secret to hiding for any extended time: amuse yourself. He imagined that the centaur were reaching their limits: it had been an hour since the apex fight had concluded and they had scarcely taken a break, even though night had already fallen. The kind of mental focus actively searching took was taxing, especially when combined with tension from the danger of being the one to find the elf.

“He’s got to be long gone, Chief. We’ve searched the whole area five times over-” the centaur received a smack on the back of the head. “Show some respect,” his fellow grumbled.

Found the sensible one.

Thu’lain couldn’t help but roll his eyes. He also had a new favorite centaur. He waited for Chieftan Marcel, who looked like he was struggling with himself, to respond. Finally, he spoke up.

“No, he’s right,” Marcel sighed, “The elf must have regenerated by now; do one last pass and let’s go home.” The chief was dissatisfied.

So he can be reasonable.

Thu’lain waited as the centaur did one final sweep of the area, mentally preparing himself to move out as soon as they were out of sight. A centaur was lazily stomping nearby and yawning with outstretched arms, his wandering gaze settling on a nearby tree - a tree that happened to be Thu’lain.

You have got to be kidding me.

The centaur’s gaze was lingering for just a little too long as his brain finally caught up with the odd outline he was perceiving against the tree. His eyes widened fractionally as primal warning bells sounded within his brain.

Well, here we go.

Thu’lain threw a bone dagger into the centaur’s throat and it hit with enough force to pierce through to the other side. He fell to the ground in a heap as if struck by lighting, complete with twitching.

Thu’lain clambered up the side of the tree as quickly as three limbs could take him before grasping at a low hanging branch and swinging with all his might, hurling himself a dozen feet straight up and to the next branch.

He caught the next branch with his outstretched hands and threw himself up to the next branch once more, the branch creaked and complained as he swung hard from it and into the next tree.

This will have to do.

He could already hear the stomping of centaur coming towards him and their fallen clansman.

“He’s killed Jym!” He heard a centaur call from below. “There! He’s in the trees!” The stampede began immediately, and with it a hail of arrows.

Thu’lain wasn’t nearly as fast without being able to spring off with his legs, and dodging arrows was significantly harder this way. He flipped high into the air and grabbed several knives from his side, throwing them at the nearest centaur.

No more hobbling shots.

One knife embedded dead-center into a centaur’s torso, another through its eye, and another centaur’s throat was pierced; they both toppled to the ground in thudding heaps.

Thu’lain spiralled through the air before grasping the next limb, more arrows narrowly missing him and some embedding into the very branch he’d grabbed. He stole a glance back, searching for his next targets, and his predatory gaze settled onto Marcel.

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The centaur instantly recognized the look in Thu’lain’s eyes.

“Only rangers on the hunt! Greenhorns back! This one’s too dangerous!” Marcel commanded, bringing up the lead.

If I kill you, they’ll stop.

Thu’lain studied the chieftain between swings: he had thick arm bucklers, his bow had some kind of shield attached to it - no doubt adding significant weight - and his legs had only leather to protect them in sheets that left his joints open.

Eyes. Joints.

Thu’lain swung high in the air again and threw three daggers in quick succession. The chieftain saw them coming, deflecting one just before it reached his face and leaping over the other two.

Attack his escape paths, overwhelm his capacity to block.

Thu’lain whipped up high again, preparing to throw five daggers this time, but Marcel reacted quickly, raising his bow and loosing two arrows in rapid succession. Thu’lain dodged, throwing his arms and working leg aside - causing himself to start spinning in the air - and dodging the first arrow, but the second impaled his left leg, painlessly. Thu’lain huffed, unable to counterattack with his limited mobility.

Okay, better than I thought.

Thu’lain tried to put more distance between himself and the centaur, but the ones that pursued him traversed the forest floor with practiced precision.

They’re gaining. Options: drop down and kill several before ascending once more? No, another centaur would be able to hit me as I got killing shots. Without the use of my leg, I can’t do both.

Thu’lain lingered on that for a moment before moving on.

Throw daggers anyways? Take out the arrow? It could be too difficult to remove quickly, and it’s not really inhibiting me further at the moment. Not many good options.

His thoughts were interrupted by a familiar Tu’lar lobbing a red sac at the centaurs below. When it hit the ground, the sac erupted in a cloud of bright orange powder which spread in a whirling plume in the air. A centaur ran through the cloud and immediately started to stumble and cough, dropping his bow, wiping at his eyes, and holding his throat, his face twisted in pain.

Cardin powder: perfect for cooking, or for suppressing crowds.

Tu’lar was ahead and was waving him over as Trat’catha and Raj’ken moved swiftly toward Thu’lain.

“There he is! Swinging like a monkey!” Raj’ken laughed as the two converged on Thu’lain and - noticing right away that he wasn’t able to use his leg - each took a shoulder and started to carry him away. They leapt in unison, only needing to make an initial count to get into rhythm with one another while carrying Thu’lain between them.

I’ll have to thank them later.

He took a moment to look around, finding Tin’lo near Tu’lar, supporting him with covering fire against any centaur that threatened to approach from the side, leaving only one of his companions unaccounted for.

Where’s Anar’dea?

Thu’lain found her rushing toward the centaur: Anar’dea held a club in one hand and braced against a branch before launching like a living cannonball, heading straight for a centaur below.

She transferred her momentum into a mighty swing that shattered her club and folded her target centaur over it like a sack of potatoes. There was just the faintest sound that escaped the centaur’s lips before it tumbled violently against the ground. Anar’dea tucked into a roll the moment before she touched the ground and expertly bounced back to her feet with the remaining momentum.

Impressive, savage, and effective.

The centaur were in complete chaos in the midst of the sudden counter-attacks. Many were trying to flee the cardin powder clouds, though the few that got ahead had the worse fate of encountering a fearsome Anar’dea in close combat. Several centaur stumbled into her arena, including Marcel, all of them coughing lightly and disoriented from the cardin powder.

Thu’lain watched as the battle unfolded.

Don’t underestimate them, Anar’dea.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It wasn’t like when she was hunting - she was out for blood.

Not a single one of you is getting out unscathed.

Her anger was cold and controlled, and her fury was directed wholly to one centaur at a time. Anar’dea threw her club at the next centaur, making him flinch away, then she wrapped a short length of chain around her right hand and lunged at him to strike. The centaur could hardly respond because his eyes were burning from the powder and he feebly tried to raise his bow to block the punch that was incoming. but Anar’dea simply punched through the holes in his defence, clobbering him in the jaw and whipping his head back with a terrible crack. The centaur fell back in a twitching heap, his neck broken from the mighty blow.

She wasted no time, already rushing her next foe, her chain dripping blood. This centaur raised his bow and loosed an arrow that was easily evaded by Anar’dea and, by the time he readied another arrow, she was already too close. She drew back and let loose a right hook straight into the centaur’s ribs, breaking several of them with the blow.

She dashed to the next centaur and, like the first two, finished it off in mere seconds. Taking advantage of her distraction, Marcel struck Anar’dea with his bow, sending her reeling back. Her ribs burned from the strike and she tumbled away to avoid any further attacks, then rose to her feet once more, glaring daggers at the chieftain.

You’ll be just as helpless as they were.

Her cold anger flared hot and she could feel her muscles start to burn in anticipation. Her eyes narrowed and her senses focused on Marcel in that moment because the other centaur were too broken to rally. Marcel circled her, waiting for his moment to strike.

Afraid.

Anar’dea balled her fists and lowered her stance because, while the centaur had reach, she had speed. Within seconds, her veins felt like fire beneath her skin, and she was the furnace. Steam rose from her body and she could feel her muscles scream for action.

Now.

She pounced at Marcel with speed and ferocity even greater than before and he tried to retaliate by striking with a wide swing of his bow. Anar’dea took the blow straight to her ribs with reckless abandon, then snapped her elbow down on the bow while grabbing Marcel’s wrist with crushing force. He grimaced in pain and was punching her in the face with his free hand, holding nothing back. Anar’dea’s head rocked back for only a moment, with little to show she’d been hit save for a small split on her cheek.

She ignored his blows and hammered his face with her chained fist, snapping his head back and then struck him in the jaw, and then the ribs. Each savage blow came with the crack of bones and, as the final blow fell, the chieftain fell to the ground, limp. She heard more centaur approaching and flipped backward away from Marcel, narrowly avoiding being struck by one of his ally’s spears.

She retreated into the canopy while the centaur regrouped and treated their wounded, rather than give chase. Anar’dea kept the chief’s bow and her body cooled from its overheating state; the steam that was rising from her body fading away as she searched for the group.

Tin’lo brought his hand to his mouth and whistled so loud that Anar’dea flinched as she heard it. She adjusted her path toward them, the darkness in the forest concealing her allies just as much as it concealed her from the centaur below.

Nearly an hour later, they had made camp in the dense canopy of the old growth forest. They took to weaving branches together as Raj’ken whispered to the trees, causing the branches to hold in place in ways they shouldn’t have. They were completely and totally secure in their literal tree house. Once everyone sat down and had taken a moment to rest, Thu’lain finally spoke up.

“Thanks. I appreciate you all coming back for me.” He took a deep breath.

“I’m glad we met,” he continued.

They shared an easy laugh together.

“I’m glad we met, too, Thu’lain,” Anar’dea smiled, relieved.

“Just Thu. You’ve all earned that right,” Thu smiled, taking a moment to look around.

It’s been too long since I’ve had companions.

They relaxed, hiding high up in the trees and away from danger. They all spoke freely to one another, reveling in the fact that they all lived another day - and that it didn’t cost elven lives to do so.

“I’d like to go back to harvest the apex tomorrow,” Thu’lain stated as he sat back.

“What?” Tin’lo blinked.

“He’s insane! We saved a crazy,” Raj’ken rolled her eyes.

“It would be better to move on. I have to agree with them,” Trat’catha was suppressing a smile.

Thu’lain smiled, amused and relaxed.

It was a good day.