Private Tales A-Hunting We Will Go

A private roleplay only for those invited by the first writer
“Don’t wear yourself out too much,” Baeshor called out, unable to fight the broad grin that had spread across his face as he searched the quickly dissipating fog for a familiar, diminutive form, “That’s my job later!”

There were many surprises Gannis thought he might have been faced with in this fight. Even as Gottfried managed to dissipate some of the mist he expected new challenges to be thrown at them by the powerful Leshy.

At no point had he expected to be mistaken for one of the others by their bedmate. Given the size of the man, either Gottfriend or Grinnel was quite bold in their choices.

"Very..."

His heavy blade came down on a wolf's head. It sounded as if he had split its skull. If there was one thing he had learned, it was to make sure everything was dead two or three times. He brought the blade down again, half severing its head from its shoulders.

"...fuckin' kind of you. I think I might be sleepy when this is done."
 
Grinnell had his attention fixed on the leshy. Adrenaline answered the call of his magic, singing in his veins and thundering in his chest. He wasn’t afraid -- had rarely been afraid of anything in his life -- but he was excited. There was nothing the small Venator enjoyed more than toppling a towering enemy. It had been a long time since he’d felled such a mighty foe and this leshy would do nicely.

A voice cut through the dissipating fog and his heart leapt jauntily. Grinnell did exactly what he’d not bothered to do for Gannis and Gottfried: he looked back. As the forest cleared, a second hulking shadow took shape. None other than Baeshor, just in time for the fun.

And what an entrance he made! Had he failed to mention there would be others? The look on Baeshor’s face said he might have. That, paired with Gannis’ reply? Too much. Grinnell snickered. He dodged a leaping wolf a moment before Herasmus came charging out of the surrounding mist to clamp his jaws around the back of its neck. Spinning about, he faced Baeshor again and blew him a kiss across his palm.

“I hope you did your stretches, puppy! I’ve always got the energy for you!” he called back. Stirring the pot, perhaps, because Baeshor was already smashing a very unfortunate wolf, but Grinnell wasn’t going to waste a perfectly good opportunity. “Unless you’d prefer Gannis.”

But that was all the ribbing he was getting in for now. The leshy took yet another long stride and raised an arm. Its clawed fingers elongated rapidly as it lashed out and thick, gnarly vines slammed into the ground where Grinnell had been standing just a second ago before he’d danced to the side. The vines writhed like snakes, reaching greedily with growing barbs toward the Venator’s feet. He hacked at them with his sword and thick black ooze gouted from the severed growths.

The leshy raised its other arm and made a second, identical attack toward Gannis. The crowd of wolves was thinning. Its defenses were wearing down.
 
Oh, how Baeshor wished he had just been mauled before he had been able to open his mouth.

In the half a century he had served as a Venator, the man had fought through wounds that would have easily left those of a lesser caliber incapacitated, but shrugging off the jeers and playful ribbing of his comrades proved to be a different matter entirely, time and time again. He knew there would be no satisfaction torn from Gannis’ sorry hide, no matter how hard his pride tried to convince him otherwise. Baeshor’s only recourse was to distract himself with violence. That had served him well in the past and that day was no different; splitting a wolf down the length of its spine was at least cathartic.

With Grinnell around, even allowing himself a moment of distraction to smother his temper proved impossible. Baershor looked up from the wolf in time to see the small man blowing him a kiss across the battlefield.

Puppy.’

Of all the things he could have, Grinnell chose to call Baeshor that.

Grinnell was a bastard in every sense of the word. The whoreson always knew just what to say to twist him up inside in ways Baeshor knew neither of them fully understood –or wanted to. No, that was a lie; he knew precisely why Grinnell held that power over him. It shouldn’t have made him angry to acknowledge that, but his mind was like water. It sought the familiar path and the various droplets of conflicting thoughts ran together, converging into a rivulet that flowed out of him in violent exasperation.

Years of training and experience were too easily forgotten when emotions ran high, even for a seasoned Venator like Baeshor. He pulled his axe free from the wolf’s back and tossed it to the ground in favor of seizing the carcass by its hind legs. It was heavy, but not for Baeshor. As he threw the wolf, he did not feel its weight, only an unbearable desire for retribution. The steaming, mangled remains flew through the air swiftly, raining offal and filth along its path until it struck Grinnell solidly in the back. The sound they made – both the wolf’s carcass and Grinnell – as they collided was gratifying, but it wasn’t enough. Polearm left carelessly where it had fallen, the man stalked towards the downed Venator with hackles raised. Baeshor was blinded to the Leshy lashing out at Gannis and to Gottfried as she brandished steel. It was only the sudden, shrill squealing that pierced his ears that made him falter.

Several meters away, Servator had been caught in a wolf’s jaws. The young pup, who was still all leg and no bite, was pinned by the larger beast and desperately thrashing under it as he was violently shaken. Servator snapped his teeth at empty air. He was outmatched and outmaneuvered, caught by the loose skin just below the oversized, spiked collar he wore.

Baeshor did not need to look to recognize his cusos canem’s cry. Dismay curled his lip and, after the briefest battle between prudence and ego, he spun round and launched himself forwards.

His metamorphosis began the moment Baeshor saw Servator beneath his attacker. It was instinct, practically second nature to him. For Baeshor, the grinding of bones had always been preferable to the slicing of flesh. Blood magic had its place and he employed it when necessary, but, to the large Venator, the power that came with even a partial shift was well worth the risks that came with it.

His heart rate spiked as he ran and Baeshor was hit with a familiar rush of adrenaline that dilated his pupils until all but a slim gold ring was left in the uncanny blackness of his eyes.

The various parts of his right arm started to contort in a grotesque transformation that all Venari were familiar with. Baeshor couldn’t hear the sickening sound of his bones moving against one another over the battle, but he could feel it. They snapped in places, pulled apart and back together by the rapidly thickening and lengthening muscle fibers as they tried to accommodate the limb’s rearrangement. His body broke and mended itself until his arm was twisted into the shape it yearned to take -- No longer the arm of a man, but one of a monster.

It was agony, even altering only his arm, but the flood of endorphins that quickly followed chased away that pain and left him in a state of euphoria. He stopped the transfiguration with a reluctance that he knew he could not admit aloud to any Venator -- even Grinnell. He only needed the one limb fortified. A leshy and a handful of wolves didn’t merit giving in to the beast entirely and any further transformation would leave him with no justification for his actions. The Venari did not shift needlessly, nor for the pleasure and exhilaration that it brought them. It was a taboo that Baeshor could not allow himself to break, regardless of the temptation.

By the time Baeshor reached the wolf and seized it by its face with his unchanged hand, he felt ready to sink his teeth into the beast’s skull just to taste blood. He moved fast – faster than the wolf could react to – and caught it by its lower jaw with elongated fingers and claws. The wolf struggled as he lifted it by its gaping maw, off of Servator and higher, until its back legs pedaled uselessly in the air. It snarled and Baeshor snarled back. Blood splattered across his coat as he pulled the jaws apart in a sharp motion. The body fell heavily at his feet and Baeshor stepped over it to scoop up the crying hound. He tucked Servator under the more human of his arms as if the pup were a sack of potatoes.

As far as Baeshor was concerned at that moment, a sack of potatoes might have been more useful.

 
In space of what felt like a breath of the other senior Venators arrival, a second hell broke loose. If she were to frown any further, she was certain the expression would well and truly stick in as Ricket always teased.

She didn't even need to look at the duo that were at their antics again. It always seemed the same when Grinnel and Baeshor were close to one another. With the thankfully sparing few times she had been made to work alongside them, it always seemed the pair would horse around before getting into the thick of it.

A death wish?

Not far fetched for their shared lifestyle. Though she did have to make the mental note of the existance of far quicker, and easier methods than stupidity. Not that she would ever comment on their actions.

She knew well a losing fight when presented with one. You tangled with one, the other was sure to follow. If not that day, the following month's depending on which was the offended party involved.

Part and parcel for the space she always gave the shared living space when able to. Aside from the requests of their Quartermaster for rarer finds she seldom lingered long. Enough to catch a proper sleep, help with a few chores, and maybe eat something before stocking up to head out. Even then she normally caught wind of some fight or spat that happened in those wee hours of daylight.

And not always the pair before her making the noise.

The triangular dagger stuck another wolf in the eye as the flat of her sword drug along the blunt edged knife. The body flopped aside as she spun and caught the hind leg of another going for Slobber. Her own hound mid bite as the wolf received a solid and tethering stab before feeling the old hounds teeth clamp down on its skull.

The cracking of bone did not please her as it might others. A means to an end, but Slobber wasn't the young thing anymore. And even the passing thought of checking his gums was pushed aside in the midst of combat.

Gannis Grinnell Baeshor
 
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“Unless you’d prefer Gannis.”

"Only tavern whores prefer Gannis and only to going hungry," he called out. Gannis didn't think anyone would hear him. The ground ahead of him cracked and bulged as roots forced their way through the ground.

He darted to the left as they burst up towards him. There was nothing to do but get out of the way, the weight and speed of the roots enough to break his ribs and send him flying even if he had been wearing full plate.

He hacked with his sword with no real intention of severing the limbs. The roots were strong and thick and he would have needed the damned thing to stand still whilst he fetched a saw.

Gannis needed enough room to close on the beast.

He threw a hatchet end over end with his left hand towards the Leshy. There was a satisfying crack as it struck home.