Open Chronicles Skewered Up

[Callarn]

The thick mat of autumn leaves was pretty to look at, it hid some wonderfully tasty mushrooms, but it served for poor bedding. It was well into Callarn's third night into Fallwood's wilds, with nothing but his cape to keep warm, that he finally conceded a restful sleep was impossible. Something about the cold, the dew, and having nothing to look at but the creaking canopy and the starry sky. In fact, he would much preferred the dark ceiling of a barrack, musty and sweat-laden as the air would have been. Callarn stood up with a groan, drank his last remainder of cider, and as he was reaching to pick up his cape he slipped.

Twigs snapped, leaves crackled, as the Dreadlord rolled and tumbled down a small hill. Too quickly he felt the vertigo of a short, violent fall, and too sudden was the shot of pain up his thigh. Through his thigh. He twitched like he was possessed, grabbings at the roots, the dirt and rocks at the bottom of the spike trap, heaving rather than screaming. The pressure built up in his chest, sprays and gushes of blood filled his ear, while his breathing came irregular, choked.

"Don't scream-" he panted, fumbling for his rapiers. He found one, but where was the other? He threw away the scabbard, began hacking at the wooden spike. "Don't scream." he would repeat to himself, each slash at the spike only dulling the blade. It was a piercing weapon, far too thin and fine to be used like this, but the alternative was... amputation.

 

[Caliane Ruinë]

Too risky.

Too risky to stop in the Falwood this close to Vel'Anir, Caliane's eyes wandered over the tops of the trees below with tired eyes. Her wings ached and every single beat that brought her lower and lower reminded her that it was an even greater risk to keep on flying. She should have stopped sooner but she had been full of adrenaline and had thought herself able to cover more miles before dusk. She had been right, of course, but she had failed to plan ahead where those extra miles would have taken her.

Right over the heart of the Falwood. This close to Vel'Anir it made her skin crawl. Since leaving the safety of her home in the clouds she had learned a lot about the people that now occupied the Ground. One that she had been warned about by all she had met and revealed herself too were the Anirian's. Full of hatred for other races, for threats against their humanity, they had spent years fighting with her Ground kin that had coated these very forest pathways in thick blood.

If they find you, they will kill you.

If I do not stop, I will die too, Caliane thought back quietly to herself and with a reluctant sigh angled her wings to take her down. Perhaps she would be lucky and find one of her kin rather than a Dreadlord.

It didn't take the Hunter Angel long to set herself up a camp. This was what she was used to far more than the Monster Hunting she had found herself in now. Back home she had been a Hunter of another kind and had spent long weeks out on the perilous hilltops of the Spine camping in such a manner. So it felt like exercising an old muscle when she found wood, staked out a little camp, set up simple wards and then hunted for a meal. It didn't take long before she was roasting a couple of plump rabbits over the roaring fire, turning them every now and then.

Caliane was almost falling asleep waiting for them to be done when she heard a sudden noise not far from the circle of her flame. She was on her feet in seconds, hand on the crystal Katana at her hip. The noise could have been anything, she told herself quietly. Anything... But the smell of blood was clear to the Hunter Marked and with a groan against her own better judgement she left the protection of her camp to go in search of the source.

She didn't even need to follow the smell for the noise whatever it was was creating was enough to draw attention for miles around. Her wings shifted uneasily, hitching up close to her back as she stepped carefully, her light feet making the barest of sounds that were lost in the din the other person was creating. She was certain it was a person now. Eventually he came into view and Caliane took in the scene before her. He lay skewered on a sharp spike which looked to be some old defensive weapon from a battle long ago. Her nose scrunched up but she hesitated again. Would he even accept her help?

Cali took a breath and then stepped into view.

"Would you like some assistance?" the Avariel raised a slender brow.

 

[Xzaar Vixneel]

The forest has been a lot more peaceful to him in the past, but now it's becoming unbearable. The Dreadlord's deforestation is beginning to destroy animal habitats. In this case, it's pushing them back further. He's visited this exact spot for years and he's never seen this many racoons try to make a break for his meat and fruit. He's also spotted several, malnourished deer in the area; he'd be almost as cruel as the Dreadlord's if he didn't give these animals his remaining food.

A particularly annoying Coyote had been roaming around. It was disoriented and aggressive, presumably infected with rabies. It was killing the already weakened livestock while posing a threat to himself. He had laid a trap down a small hill where the Coyote roamed.

Laying in his tent with his head poked out the end, Xzaar bit an apple while gazing up at the stars. The cold autumn breeze was accepted; his time in the Ixchel Wilds forced him to become familiar with the cold, olus this is relaxing. Perhaps too relaxing. He dropped his apple while he dozed off. The bugs were another problem with the deforestation. One minute into his sleep and his apple was already being feasted upon by some opportunistic ants.

His nap was short-lived as he was startled awake by the loud tumble of something, followed by clawing of rocks and twigs.

Fuck yes.

His food or safety wouldn't be bothered anymore.

Finally caught 'em.

He would've gotten up faster if he realized that he caught a much bigger prize.
​

He sat up, dusting the dirt and bugs off him and grabbing his quiver, slinging it over his shoulder before grabbing his bow. As much as he'd love to walk through the forest without a care like he used to, the aggressive animals he's spotted that difficult. Reaching up and grabbing a handful of leaves, crushing them slightly and whispering a few incantations, his skin and clothes assumed the exact color of surrounding vegetation.

Sneaking past the underbrush, he did not see a coyote. First, bd saw an Avariel. He's never seen one in person, but he's definitely read about them. He doesn't recall them living anywhere near Falwood. Then... something that was just delightful to witness. He couldn't contain himself as a twisted grin creeped across his face. Dreadlord's somehow manage to do something no other can do, and that's diminish Xzaar's morals for human life. A short, cheerful laugh exposed his position as he striped from out the underbrush. "Oh... BRAVO. You're much better than that Coyote I was hoping to catch." He crouched down as the effects of his mimicry gradually worn off.

He was too busy relishing in this beautiful moment of karma that he almost missed what the Avariel said. "Why?" He asked as he stood up. "Certainly you know of the Dreadlords and the damage they're causing to Falwood, and how xenophobic they are." He couldn't help but smile as he feebly tried to hack away at the spike with his rapier. Perhaps he should be allowed to live if he's able to pull off such a task. Gushing and spraying from a thigh wound of this severity can only mean one thing. "Besides... I doubt it'd be easy to save him even if he was worth it," He pointed down to his thigh, "His femoral artery is clearly separated. He'll lose consciousness, bleed out and die in minutes. Good. A fitting death for a piece of absolute shit." and that's how he feels about it. Die like the animals you push out of their habitats.

You get what you fucking deserve. ​

 

[Callarn]

No, not even amputation. This wasn't for hacking wood or meat or anything. Rapiers were thrusting weapons, he knew this. He also knew that this was futile. The rapier would sooner break than cut the wood. So why keep going? Again, futile. Maybe it was just fear, he had seen it in hunting dogs before, running with their guts spilling as they were gored by boar tusks. Dreadlords know no fear, like all good dogs. They had been purged from it. So what moved Callarn?

His arm convulsed under the strain, the blade was shattered. He thought he still had a few good minutes in him, to muster all of his strength into a push, but he started hallucinating. He knew this was an hallucination because he did not believe in angels. He also didn't believe in nations, yet here he was wearing the trappings of one. Maybe the angel was also a trapping.

"Honestly, I don't know." he was very pale, cold, but warm in his hands. Tingled. His mouth was dry and he wished for some volare oil. It was hard to keep awake, but what would happen if he closed his eyes? He preferred this dream. "Are you real?" his head spun woozily, his stare locked at some far point in the sky "I am. Was. But it doesn't feel like that anymore. Not for a long time." Destruction of Falwood, xenophobia, some artery, this jeering cackle that echoed in his skull felt very out of place. Just as he didn't believe in angels, he didn't believe that he cared about any of those three things. But even the sound of this thoughts slurred.

"See, and that is the problem. Caring. That which only exists only in potential doesn't exist at all, and yet here we are striving for land. Dirt. Mountains are just rocks and kings shit same as us. Why care for them?" in a flourish full of melacholy he bade both apparitions to enlighten him. Even as aspects of his own thought. Not bad company, at all. He was smart. "Absurd, we oil blotches that seek meaning in pure abstract. Nothing transcends. Yet is there nothing inherent in the pursuit? Are we, wasn't I made more whole? I felt. Triumph of the ego, I tell you, to in the face of a silence scream yes, I do exist. And I have existed, even if only for a time." spent, he took in the air. It filled his lungs with warmth, although he knew it to be gellid. He looked at the angel "But have I existed to others, is the question. A reality real only unto itself. Preposterous."

Sad, his head reclined and his body slouched. He wished he could dream, even if the pain remained.

Blood pooled around him at a brisk speed.

 

[Caliane Ruinë]

Caliane threw the new person - the trapper it turned out - a look of utter disgust and surprise. She was a gentle soul, despite her recent escapades into fighting like her father. The idea that someone would intentionally harm another simple because of what they were without them having first proved they were an archetype of their kind, appalled her. Perhaps it was because of how people reacted to her at first sight, decrying her as a winged demon from another shadowy plane of existence, or perhaps it was the soft heart of the Avariel but she didn't hesitate in moving forward with quick determined steps to help ease the skewered man's pain.

"How does that make you any better than he?" The redhead angel asked softly in that signature sing-song voice. Even the nightingales near them fell quiet to listen to her softly uttered words, mistaking them for song. Once she reached the trap she examined it with a cool, calm gaze of someone used to such things. She had set enough in her lifetime to work it out.

"This is going to hurt, dearest," Caliane brushed one hand gently over the injured mans forehead. She had never been destined for the Healers Halls but she knew enough of their magic to be able to ease his pain in the same manner a shot of whisky would have. Her other hand fell over the still pinned thigh. For a moment nothing happened and then a brilliant white flame leapt into her palm, twisted around her hand until the whole thing was aflame. She pressed it to the wound. Fire shot down the wooden spear disintegrating it and in the same moment, cauterizing his wound.

Without even hesitating she bent and scooped him up in her arms as though he weighed no more than a sack of flour. Her green gaze fixed on the other man for the barest of moments, daring him to say another word, before turning and starting her way back towards her own camp.

"Groundlings," she muttered under her breath in equal parts horror and confusion.

 

[Xzaar Vixneel]

The trap is taking its toll in a much more insidious way. If he had thought of how inhumane it would've been to the coyote, he would've never layed it out. He couched beside the gravely injured dreadlord, examining his condition. Pale. Dry lips. Convulsion. This man spoke in dejected, delusional riddles. Riddles that Xzaar has no care to decipher. The cause for this response appears to be "Hypovolemic shock... I almost feel sorry for you."

"How does that make you any better than he?"

Even though that remark deeply insulted him, he brushed it off and smiled it at. While he knows little about Avariels, she confirmed that she isn't from here. She's clearly ignorant about the Dreadlords nefarious actions here. He made no attempt of stopping her as the she destroyed the wooden spike, and cauterized his injury. As for her look, he gladly accepted the dare.

He heard her whispered comment as she began to walk off with him and it only confirmed his point once again, "You're Naive." He said as he stood up. "You're not from anywhere near here and it's painfully obvious." He placed his bow over his back, approaching them.

"Certainly you've heard about Dreadlords, but not what exactly they do. Every. Every last Dreadlord is xenophobic and they want nothing more than destruction and power." A bold claim, but it's true. "The city of Vel Anir forcibly takes children from their homes and trains them as weapons for war. All of them hate you and me. The only exception is house Pirian, and their still racist. Less racist, but still." He dismissively waved his hand at her. He won't continue to bore her with a lecture, but one final thing.

"You'll see a lot of Dreadlords here in Falwood and they're not here for tea parties. They're slowly but effectively destroying habitats and killing wildlife along with Elves." His malicious gaze fixated on the Dreadlord she held. He wanted to kill him right there while he's helpless, like so many dreadlords before him has done to Elves. Like he's done. "He is no exception."

(I see no use here anymore so enjoy the rest of the thread, and don't make any the Forsaken. ify'knowwhatImean)

 

[Callarn]

Callarn was going to die. And after that? He'd be too dead to care. He needn't worry then about such small things as Houses, humans and spike pits. Truth is that he would die realized, parting with the promise that the world made sense. As he shut his eyes, unburned, at peace, life saw fit to let go of him lovingly. The voice of a mother he never had welcomed him, and a soothing warmth eased the creeping cold. He took a deep breath began to drift into sleep, into the dark...

Callarn screamed. He screamed over the crackling of flames, the charring of meat. He screamed as he could feel something hard shatter, splinter and from it leaked and bubbled something, the marrow of bone. Tendons twisted, pulled, tugged, seared off or unutilized in the frantic trashing of the Dreadlord. He couldn't think the word, think of anything, he just wanted it all to stop, for his brain or heart to give in. But the body of a Dreadlord was a powerful thing. He survived, and worse, he had his thoughts returned. Shock, anger, a hatred for this aching that ran through the veins of his leg. His eyes, wide bloodshot things.

He felt dread.

When Caliane swooped, Callarn held to his leg. He endured the pain silent shock, pale like death and dripping in sweat and blood he couldn't recall having bled.

"My rapiers." he would say much later, breaking the spell of catatonia. He threw himself nervously, forcing himself upright. He stumbled. Weak, crippled. He couldn't fight, not with this leg. "Where are my rapiers?"

 

[Irithiel]

For what felt like the first time in centuries Irethril relaxed, it wasn't like those half baked retirements that he threatened command to do where the Irethril would retreat to some backwater place for a few months before returning As much as Irethril wanted to leave he can't help but resist the need for fighting, it wasn't a job more so than addiction. He enjoyed the thrill of being a black ops agent: The covert missions such as assassinations, facing impossible odds with nothing more than a dagger and your wits and he chance to make an impact for your people even if they don't know the sacrifices they've made so they could live.

Irethril lay upon a tree branch his closing his one eye while placing his hands behind his back. He had taken a small nap after spending the morning hunting for game and coming up empty. The Elf had forgotten the beauty of the Falwood, how magic occasionally thrums through the forest summoning weird yet fascinating creatures like the Yeth Hound. He'd been constantly told by Gildor and Cedric to take a break and enjoy life for weeks now. Irethril resisted at first but with missions drying up he had no choice but to do so.

He rented out a shack a few miles north from the river, an Elven farmer wanted to travel the world and Irethril was more than happy to give him the coin to rent the place. It had a river full of salmon and mackerels for Irethril to fish in. It was miles away from Fal'addas where Irethril can be alone, the Elf didn't like to be in large crowds for long he tended to get paranoid. But staying at that shack was overall enjoyable. Irethril refreshed his mind and body focusing on simple things like fishing and hunting and he even took gardening much to his surprise. He blamed Gildor for sending him a book of Gardening from the College of Elbion.

Just then, Irethril heard a scream no a shriek as though someone was being tortured. He immediately got up and took his bow with him. Like a Lemur, Irethril leapt on the tree branches with graceful fluidity being quick but simultaneously silent as to not have whoever is out there alerting his presence. After a few minutes navigating through the trees, he finally arrived. He knelt on the mossy branch surveying the situation. He spotted two Elves with one of them being an Avariel. Irethril frowned he heard some rumblings about the Avariels coming out of hiding with one of them being a Monster Hunter.

However the person whom they were helping got Irethril's attention, it was a human man but it wasn't any ordinary human but rather a dreadlord. "Well if you look at that!" Irethril announced jumping off the tree and landing softly onto the ground. "If it isn't a Dreadlord ensnared by my kin, dying of his own stupidity most likely. I've had a relaxing day in the Falwood and now I see a Dreadlord wallowing in pain possibly begging an Elf whom he sees as inferior not to kill him."

Irethril chuckled. "Today is truly a blessed day," he said holding his bow.

 

[Caliane Ruinë]

"You shouldn't walk on it..." Caliane frowned as he wrestled his way onto his feet and out of her arms. She put up no resistance, letting her hands fall to her sides and her wings fold against her back tightly to keep them from brushing against the forests muddy floor. Her mind flickered back to the weapons he was describing and winced; she had been focused on getting him to somewhere warm where she could examine the wound better not in collecting his personal belongings.

"Please, sit I'll -" the Avariel motioned with her hands for him to sit on one of the logs nearer her fire and had been about to offer to go back and fetch them if only he rested, when another stranger appeared. There was a slight tiredness to her face as she turned towards this new face. She had stopped here hoping to run into no-one and now she had met three men in the span of five minutes.

The first mans warning hadn't fallen on deaf ears and her green gaze flickered over this new being. He named her kin which eased her tension a little but Dreadlords were not the only dangers here about.

"Have my kin of the Falwood truly sunk so low that they would wish harm on a man who hasn't raised a hand against them?" a slender brow rose towards the other elf as she folded her arms across her chest, clearly unimpressed. "If you wish to share my fire, cousin, you can fetch his rapiers before he does himself further injury," and with that Caliane did this time put her hands firmly on Callarn's shoulders and push him down onto one of the legs.

"I need to bandage the wound to stop infection," she said to any complaints that might have arisen.

 

[Callarn]

It was that voice again. More silent, as venomous. And it brought a bow.

"Liar."

All elves were.

"Coyotes don't live in the forest." he followed with a prolonged wheeze "Deserts. Plains." he would take slow, heaving steps. Less like a drunk, more like a man whose leg had been destroyed. Blood erupted from tears in the scarring, spraying the grass. "Good placing, near a slope. But your construction? Amateurish at best." he hissed bloodily. Even a needle would have been enough for the Uharilite to start casting. Until he could take an arrowhead from the elf, his fists would have to suffice. "You should have put more stakes. Here's why."

Caliane saved him. Again. Something about the word infection flared new life into the wound. Something for Callarn to cling on in this madness. "Pitch. Pitch or oil, resin if nothing else. Sticks, burns. Then nothing rots." he leaned on the winged monstrosity, holding to her shoulders. He had many questions, and yet could not focus on any "Or kill me now. Spare us the trouble."

He knew this one wasn't on the side of the Dreadlords, otherwise this archer would have been already dead. He could only dream.

 

[Irithiel]

Such naivete coming from the Avariel ignorant of the atrocities that Vel Anirians to nonhumans over the years they've hidden. From bloody pogroms to the nonhumans in their territory to driving other races to near extinction. Irethril let it slide though, the red headed Elf hadn't been to Arethril for long. For years everyone assumed that the Avariel were a myth but lo and behold, one not only just appeared but also became a Monster Hunter and saved Bhathairk from a large Monster from another dimension.

She is formidable but she clearly doesn't understand how much the world has changed since her people had left. "What you see here," Irethril explained. "Is not a man but a Dreadlord from Vel Anir. For years his kind has been trying to kill us and every nonhuman they see. The Falwood has been stained with nonhuman blood due to Vel Anir's massacres. Great races such as the Wood Elves have been driven to near extinction because not only the Vel Aniraians desired their Ironwood but because their ears were pointy, their skin was hardened wood. They weren't human so therefore they deserved genocide. This Dreadlord is the might of the Anirian army. The architects of the atrocities towards nonhumans over the years."

He looked at the Dreadlord with contempt though curiosity took over. What was he doing in the Falwood of course Vel Anir was located in the Elven borders but even a Dreadlord knew that to go here unattended was suicide since Elven soldiers often patrolled the forests. "Killing you will be a mercy," Irethril said approaching the injured Dreadlord. "But I'm not the merciful type, you should know Dreadlord that Coyotes are known to be adaptive. They can live anywhere from cities to forests, they just prefer the desert. You would know that if you actually stepped out of your fortress city and observed the wildlife."

Irethril in many ways was similar to a Coyote, he adapts to any situation that he's placed in. It was the nature of being a Black Ops agent, often Irethril was dropped cold in an area that was unfamiliar to him but like a Coyote he adapted and overcame. It's why he's still alive after all these years much to his excitement and disappointment. "Keep him down Avariel," Irethril said. "I want to ask some questions."

Kneeling down, Irethril glared at the man. "Who are you?" he asked. "What are you doing here in these woods alone? Not like your kind to do solo patrols especially with Elven soldiers hiding on top of the trees ready to place an arrow on your neck."

(OOC: Special thanks to Xzaar Vixneel for researching that interesting about the Coyote!)

Caliane Ruinë Callarn Osfort

 

[Caliane Ruinë]

"What I see here," Caliane said calmly with a thread of anger running through her tone. "Is someone bothering my patient," with one hand in flash she had the crouching elf by the scruff of his shirt and then threw him back and away from the Dreadlord who was still muttering incoherent things. She was tired of people speaking down to her because her people had not been a part of the world for so long. Her green eyes when they turned to regard him over her shoulder were as cold as ice.

"It seems to me the only thing that has changed since the Avariel left, is you have all lost your ability to care about one another and not judge someone until they give you reason to judge," she shook her head. Everyone could be different from the mould and she would be damned if she would be the one to make the mistake of hurting that one. With one final look she then wandered over to her bag and brought it back to the man where the man way laying.

She rummaged through her items quietly and soon found the bandage and slave that would stave off an infection. With her dagger Cali first cut away the material of his trousers that hugged the wound, then she cleaned it and dressed it quietly. For a brief moment she touched his forehead and frowned at the hint of a fever.

"He needs a healer."

 

[Callarn]

Coyotes? Who said anything about coyotes? Was this man mad?

"I'd say I'm a step too far from my fortress city, and you a step too close to me. Go away or wash your mouth, it reeks of hypocrisy and ass." he spat at the man's face, but the froth was too scarlet and heavy with blood and it trickled down his stubble instead "And as for my business, I have come as one to bust two in your mother so that she'll bear three while laying on all fours. Why, would you like to watch?" he smiled with gritted teeth, stained pink.

Before he could lark his way up Vel Anir's Dirty Twenty, Caliane hurled the elf with ease Callarn knew he wouldn't have had.

"I need a grave." he remarked with demured lucidity as his wound stung and then eased under the salve, smiling ruefully at the end of his days as a Dreadlord "Just some hole, really, I'm so broken that any'll be just as well. Useless things only serve to gather dust, don't they?" he peeked over the feathers of his healer, a strange creature indeed, "Trapper lad! Come end your hunt. Toss me back to your pit, and see that it the stake goes through my heart! I wouldn't like to be awake when you finally dig in and choke on my-"

He retched. Heaved. He could fill his ribs squeezing down on his lungs, the slow crawl of acid burning up his throat.