Fate - First Reply The Butcher's Hook

[Jago Rhys]

The Wild Hunt burned in his blood, it sang to every desire he had. Darkness blanketed the woods, gleaming moonlight straining to reach the ground through the trees. His breath coming in short bursts as he paced easily through the trees and bracken.

Jago had diverted from his group, they had lost sight of the one they had been chasing and easily the largest, he broken off from the group to circle back. His wolf form was massive, even for shuck standards. A hulking beast of muscle and aggression.

He finally caught the scent, and he howled in excitement, calling his group to him. He picked his paws up into a run, golden eyes gleaming with a bloodlust that would never be sated.

The fleeing figure was before him, and he dashed at it, jaws lunging and snapping for a grip on flesh. Terrified screams tore through the air as his teeth locked onto it's quarry. He pulled the creature back in his massive maw, releasing only to leap upon his victim full force.

He had them pinned, his teeth sinking into flesh. He tore sinew from bone, blood covering him and the ground. Soon the screams faded to whimpers and pleas, and then a whisper as he bled the life from the pitiful creature below him.

Once he was done, he backed away. Maw dripping blood, a gory glint of slick red sliding onto the leaves of the forest floor. There was barely anything left to discern even who it was he had served his sentence upon. The night was still young...

 

[Tian]

The night was his.

Or, as the tale often went, the night had been his. Once upon a time so very long ago, he had reigned supreme in the darkness, the (quite literal) bleeding edge of the night. There was a certain sweetness to infamy, a certain siren-song calling to being the best among a singular breed of villain. Tian had accepted the challenge and had crawled his way out of the darkest depths of obscurity unto the savage, ichor-stained pinnacle of butchery.

But it was not the butchery of the wild. It was not the savagery of the depraved. No, it was the ruthless and the cold. The uncaring. The surgical application of force to achieve a singular goal, to snuff one guttering candle out among many.

Looking upon the man walking through the moonlit wilderness, one could not even see the smallest scrap of what he had been. Assuming, of course, one could see him; the dark leathers blended well with the dappled shadows of the forest floor. The knives at his hips - long, heavy, and wickedly sharp - were dulled so that they did not gleam in that phantasmal light. He gave off a certain impression - one that begged the stranger to leave this one alone, sire, for there is always tomorrow and that tomorrow is not promised.

A harbinger. But of what?

The piercing scream cut through the not-quite silence of the weald. Although he had not been moving particularly quickly to begin with, the shadowy stranger slowed his steps and cast his hooded gaze in the direction of the cry. Those steps slowed, and before long the shadowy figure came to a halt. Here was a mystery that piqued his curiosity, albeit the ultimate question of why...remained unanswered.

After a moment of consideration, the black-clad figure shrugged, almost as if in response to some unspoken comment. With no preamble, they struck from the path, cutting into the gloom as though the darkness were little hindrance, stepping as unerringly through the woodland as a native might, disturbing neither branch nor leaf.

Through the darkness, to the site of death. Standing there, looking upon the frailty of life put on display, the man remained in silence for a long moment. And, when he finally did break that silence...it was simply to say...

"That," he said in a calm voice, "was not very efficient, friend." There was a heavy, pregnant pause, before the nameless wanderer added in a decidedly more flippant tone: "You missed a spot, though," and then gestured towards a chunk that was at least identifiable as having come from a humanoid of some kind.

Standing in shadow, assessing and waiting.

 

[Jago Rhys]

The black shuck was full of adrenaline after his kill, already itching for more. He loved to sink his teeth into flesh, to rip and tear as he felt them grow still in his grip. He relished it, it was all he could think about. When he couldn't, he took to the abuse of the cwn annwn. It wasn't a better replac, but it stemmed the need to kill a bit.

Maw still dripping, he raided his head. He felt the presence more than saw or heard at first. He was instantly on alert. There had been a fae not to long in the past that had taken to ripping apart the shucks, and they still hadn't found out who it was.


Black fur bristled, his lips lifting in a snarl. His wolf form was menacing enough to make most avoid him. There were some that deigned to try their luck, inevitably meeting their end.

The figure that approached did not seem to present aggression, but Jago had enough of that for anyone. Instead it spoke, and he paused. He couldn't tell if his tone was malicious, still a deep chuckle escaped his jaws. "It's not about efficiency, it's about the joy I take in it."

The reaction wasn't what he expected. A fight maybe, but not correction on his form. Jago shifted back to his fae form. His seven foot and muscled frame glistened with exertion and blood. "Tell me then, what would you have done better?" He held no fear in his tone. He was the Spear of the Sluagh, nothing scared him.

Tian

 

[Tian]

The joy I take in it...

Another fool, then. Another one who reveled in their own power over those who were weaker than they were - not much unlike him, once upon a long time ago. The former assassin sighed inside his own head, knowing all too well the path this fiend was traveling down.

Those who lived by the sword did not always die by it, as it turned out. The old colloquial saying held about as much water as a picnic basket, and was as easy to tear apart with reality. Many of them did, but some of them only condemned those they loved to die by that very same sword in their stead.

Which will it be for you, my fine savage? Aloud, he said: "If you enjoy the kill so very much, why not extend the hunt?" He very much believed that this creature probably enjoyed the chase as much, if not more, than the actual kill itself. "Cut and run, as was the old adage; a slice here, a slice there, until the victim can run no more. A method used to make a statement, more than anything...but effective." And likely something you would enjoy. Licking the blood of the wounded from thine hands as thou run through the woods, the scent of powder in the air and the sharpness of frost on the wind...

Tian shook his head after a long moment. "Savagery for the sake of savagery wins no awards, save for fear in those who have fear to give, my friend."

A pause.

"It also drives those that seek fame and glory to hunt down one such as you. And some day...you will pay a price for your willful indulgence in blood." Not a threat, not even stated in a malicious tone. Delivered syllable by syllable as a simple statement of fact, with the bitter edge of one who knew running somewhere deep beneath the surface.