Open Chronicles Astray

[Carling d'Argent]

This was not the moment to make cheek at Tall Teddy.

It was life and serious wounds that could get infected in here or even straight up death, and so Carling knew not to lose her focus now. She still smiled each time the beast whipped around to follow her, but she was grateful for the nimbleness of her elven race. It made toying with the largest beastly thing in the pit child's play.

Maybe bets were made that she wouldn't last against the bulking thing, but the more time Carling spent in taunting the creature that latched it's attention onto her, the more she began to strategise just how to go about this. It reminded her of a wyvern. Nasty shits, but this one didn't have wings, and the addition of forelegs made for a more agile opponent.

"Gods' Teeth, your breath stinks!" The thought came to voice as it lunged towards her and screeched, leaving a wake of scent that her all too heightened sense of smell caught. She had leaped to the side and rolled in the not so fresh sand, but was back on her feet to move in closer before the large creature could whip it's body around and catch her with it's tail.

There were three points she knew to strike in order to incapacitate it's movements.

First, she was going for the jugular.

 

[Afanas]

Agony lanced through Afanas as the beast’s teeth tore into his side—an arcane pain, sharp as betrayal, blooming in his abdomen where flesh split and blue blood welled forth like ink from a broken sigil. He staggered, vision wavering under the weight of sudden injury and the strange heat of his own essence spilling into the sand.

But the gods—if they still watched—favored violence this night. Vulpesen, nimble and fey-quick, struck with sudden brilliance, drawing the beast’s hunger for but a moment.

Afanas wasted no time.

With a grunt of exertion and rage, he twisted violently, breaking free of the creature’s maw. The world narrowed to the thrum of blood in his ears and the writhing shape of the monster before him. Snarling, he pivoted on one heel, driving his sword backward in a brutal, two-handed thrust. The steel cleaved through flesh, gristle, and sinew, slamming into the stone beneath with a jarring clang that sent sparks leaping into the air. The creature writhed, impaled and howling. It shrieked—a sound between a dying animal and rending metal—but Afanas was not done.

He surged forward, blood still spilling from his wound, and seized the thing by its crocodilian head. With fingers curled around the edge of its upper jaw, he braced one foot against its brawny shoulder and pulled.

Muscle tore. Bone cracked. A gout of ichor sprayed upward as the upper portion of the creature’s came away in his grip like a rotted mask adorned with splintered bone and twitching nerves.

Breathing heavily, Afanas straightened, blood dripping from both his side and the broken remains in his hands. His gaze snapped to Vulpesen.

"Not that one," he gestured to the beast Vulpesen had injured. "Do not kill it yet. I hunger and a dead beast will not suffice to mend my injuries."

 

[Aurra Brylee]

"Nuir!" she cried out.

Turning, she found him thrown down in the sand. He was hacking away at the knife-ended tail. Aurra had been so pleased to see a friendly face, but even then she had known it could lead to pain. She had seen too many friends die over the years.

The creature thrashed. As its claws came at her she swing with spirit glass. The blade cut its maw in half, but it shattered. The aether made magic was impossibly sharp but it was also delicate.

Nuir handed her the bloody, severed tail.

She shook her head once, sharply, in disbelief. Then she turned and threw the blade-ended tail in anger. That pierced it's hide and sent it darting away as it lost blood.

"Shit, can you heal yourself?" she hissed, looking around. "We need to go for the wall and get out of this pit!"

She grabbed his tunic, holding Nuir upright as he swayed.

 

[Nuir]

Nuir leaned against Aurra Brylee 's grasp a little he hadn't realized his stance was so unsteady. With some relief he watched Aurra ward off the closest beast. He could hear the bit of panic in her voice.
His eyes flickered down to the wound. It was a lot of blood. A crimson flower blooming as it soaked into his robes. "I've healed plenty worse." Came his reply reassuringly. Healing underground had been a strain but here with the open sky he could use his power freely.
He closed his eyes a moment and drew the power. A soft light emitted from the wound as it knitted together. It would be tender for a while but he would still be able to run which was what mattered. She was right they couldn't allow this to distract them. They needed to find a way out before one of their less durable acquaintances was seriously injured. If they didn't it would become a war of attrition certainly. "Right! but... how?" He replied with a quick nod as he puzzled over a way to get over the wall.

Scanning over the walls of the arena didn't bring forth any obvious way out though. Alas if only he could simply conjure a ladder but life rarely presented such convenient solutions. He instead looked over the others in the arena. The elven hunter appeared to be holding her own.
She almost made this look like child's play.

Just a short distance someone had joined the tall one.
He caught sight of a tail as the figure took to one of the creatures. That's why he looked familiar. The Zorren!
He closed the distance carefully not wanting to draw the attention of the creature that the Zorren had subdued. Arriving just in time to hear the tall one remark about having a snack. He too would have liked to see what a flank of these beasts tasted like but he gathered that the swordsman meant something else. "Ah those I can mend for you." Nuir interjected calmly. Not that he intended to prevent the man from consuming the creature but it was his nature to offer.
He normally would have put his hand to the wound. It was at a bit of an awkward angle and mostly covered by tight clothing. After a second of hesitation he reached out to take hold of the man's hand. Soft light laced their hands and lit up the wounds until either they were healed or the man drew his hand away whichever came first.

The healer the turned his atenttion to the Zorren. "Well met! Mr. Vulpesen you wouldn't have any ideas on getting over the walls would you?" With their group mostly assembled perhaps they could find a way out before something even nastier could be released.

 

[Vulpesen]

Vulpesen danced around the creature's remaining front claw as it swiped ineffectually at him. His sword raised, prepared for a finishing skewer through its neck when he heard Afanas call for restraint. Quickly, he turned his sword into a defense against next strike, grunting with the effort as claw scraped against leysteel. "Keep it alive, got it! Whatever you're gonna do, make it quick!"

His ears flicked to Aurra's cry and his eyes flicked to the two elves to behold Nuir's injuries. "Hellfire!" His magic was limited, the enchanted iron shackles still keeping him restricted in what he could do. Thankfully, that fact become less of concern as Nuir started to heal himself. Right, people can care for themselves. It was a pleasant reminder which allowed him to catch his breath and think.

"I've got a few ideas. Most require I get these damned things off." He lifted his hands to show his bonds as Nuir approached and asked for a plan. "Which, thankfully, not the first time I've been cuffed up." His tail swept around and he dipped some fingers into the soft bushy fur. A bit of fiddling later and he produced a pair of pins. "They search pockets and orifices, but they never search the fur. Cover me for a bit." Sitting down, he hunched over his wrists and started work on the lock.

Aurra Brylee Carling d'Argent

 

[Afanas]

Vulpesen Nuir Carling d'Argent

Afanas's boots slammed into the blood-soaked earth as he leapt, landing atop the writhing, spike-laden beast. The creature shrieked—its voice a shrill blend of rage and panic—as he straddled its armored back, talons scraping uselessly at the sand in its desperation. Wounded, disoriented, and pinned, the monstrous predator thrashed beneath him, but Afanas’s grip was iron.

He seized its snapping maw with one hand, slamming its head down and wrenching its snout sideways with a grunt of exertion. Thick, acidic drool spilled from the beast's gnarled teeth. Its eyes rolled in agony as Afanas’s other arm wrapped around the creature's neck like a vice.

"Vulpesen," Afanas growled, glancing to the side. His voice was coarse, wet with something ancient. “You may want to avert your gaze now.”

Then, with a sound like tearing leather, his face began to split.

His jaw distended first—unnaturally, horrifyingly—unhinging to reveal a gaping maw of raw muscle, sinew, and writhing, probing appendages. A proboscis, slick and barbed, extended from his throat like a grotesque spear, twitching in anticipation. Beneath the dim light, his now monochrome-silver eyes burned brighter than ever, consumed with hunger.

The proboscis struck.

It punctured deep into the beast's jugular with a sickening shlk. The monster howled—but it was already fading, its strength draining by the second. Afanas clamped tighter, arms flexing as he fed. Veins bulged along his neck. His clawed fingers dug into its scaly flesh as the pulsing rhythm of blood coursed up into him, red rivulets spilling across his jaw.

The beast's massive limbs spasmed. Its tail lashed once—twice—and then fell limp, twitching with the last vestiges of life.

Afanas remained still, mouth fused to the creature's neck, drinking deep. The sound was revolting: a wet, rhythmic sucking, like marrow being pulled from shattered bone. The unnatural act unfolded in grim silence—except for the gurgling death rattle of the once-terrifying predator beneath him.

And slowly… Afanas began to rise.

His mouth peeled back from the wound, strands of viscous blood trailing from his chin. His proboscis retracted, disappearing behind jagged teeth and torn flesh that knit itself back into the semblance of a man’s face—though the monstrous hunger in his eyes lingered still.

The rents torn across his abdomen—deep gouges where the beast’s serrated teeth had raked his flesh—twitched. Flesh regrew with unnatural precision, muscle reweaving like silk threads under unseen fingers. Skin sprouted over the wounds smooth as river-stone, unbroken and without blemish. Not even the ghost of a scar remained.

Nuir stepped near, pale hands lifting—his fingertips crackling with soft light, the whisper of ancient healing arts.

Afanas turned on him like a wounded wolf.

A low, guttural hiss tore from between his teeth, and he flinched his torso back from the offered light, muscles coiling, the virgin hide stretching taut. His eyes—brighter than white-hot iron now—fixed on Nuir with a snarl that needed no words.

"I've strength enough to carve us an exit," he said, voice low and gargling. "When you're through picking that lock, Vulpesen, have our allies gather. Close. No stragglers."

He turned to the creature with half its head missing. He walked over, laggardly, unhurriedly and coiled his long digits around the pommel of his broadsword, the blade of which had penetrated the beast's hide earlier, nailing it to the cold floor below. Afanas pulled, wrenching his sword free from the mangled carcass, the steel sliding out with an uncomfortably wet sound, like pulling a spoon out of a pudding bowl.