Raven

Flight

The night was long and hazy.

Kaeias spent many hours examining Myrandus' gear, soaking in its masterful craftsmanship with their steady gaze. Eventually, they unbound Myrandus, allowing him to don his armor under an unwavering gaze.

"It makes no difference to me", the enigmatic hunter said, a wink carried on their casual tone. 

Myrandus refused to inquire as to what Kaeias' intentions were, wishing to rob him of any satisfaction in keeping a curious prisoner. He made no attempt to escape, fully aware that Kaeias would not be troubled in tracking him down in the dismal forest. Instead, he took the opportunity to observe Kaeias as they moved about the camp.

The hunter was not exceedingly tall, perhaps five and a half feet in height, possessing neither the bulk typically found in trained men nor the curves associated with the fairer sex. They moved with the grace of a lynx, weight shifting smoothly through each step so as to not make a sound. Myrandus may well have been observing a phantom. When they sat, did so in an equally graceful manner, bending their legs and resting their elbows on their knees, letting their gaze fall to the ground in a fashion that would imply carelessness. Despite this, Kaeias' head cocked lightly at the slightest whisper of sound.

Kaeias' equipment, fittingly, it seemed, suggested an aptitude for stealth. Their high boots had thick, soft soles, and no exposed metal (of which there was little) seemed to devour the firelight, barely reflecting a fragment of the warm glow. A small metal shield was slung over the hunter's back, ovoid except for a slight concave portion along half of one side, perhaps a rest for a spear or a lance, though they were not visibly armed. A series of straps loosely secured a short rod to their hip.

The howl of a wolf cut through the dark air as the night shifted to the grey hues of early dawn.

Kaeias nodded to themself, then stood. The white mask fixed its blank gaze on Myrandus.

"That's us. Move. Take your dead weight."

The weight of his sword returned to his side and his shield fastened to his arm invigorated Myrandus, and he surged after the soundlessly dashing spectre just as a massive dark shape flung itself into the clearing.

There were two monstrosities. The beasts had the stature of a bear, muscular hindquarters propelling a bulky torso. Each had two powerful arms, ending in dark hands with stubby fingers and dull claws caked with grime. The monsters' thick necks supported apish heads with feral red eyes and long, protruding jaws. Knotted black fur covered the beasts.

No sense in wasting breath asking what sick process sired the abominations, or what they were called. Myrandus ran.

The two warriors flew through the thick woods, Myrandus crashing though the sickly flora where Kaeias weaved and flowed like quicksilver. The trees became denser and increasingly spindly as they blurred by; so many tawny blades of grass in the fields of a colossus. The raving beasts pursued them, all four sinewy limbs churning in time with their hot, heaving breath, radiating like waves of heat from a demented furnace. Froth formed at their muzzles as they snarled and roared at their prey.

Myrandus became aware of another presence darting along beside he and Kaeias.

He also became increasingly aware of the burden of his armor, dragging him ever closer to the ground-churning fury of the beasts.

He loosened his longsword in its scabbard.

The alabaster mask whipped over the cloaked shoulder. "You're worth a lot less to me dead, Varisshalm!"

Heavy steel boots pivoted and rooted themselves into the cold ground. A brilliant longsword sprang from its scabbard, nothing more than a whirling plane of light. Raven hair whipped with the force of the bastard's momentum.

Crimson eyes filled Myrandus' vision. Myrandus aligned them slightly to his left.

The beast's flank exploded in a shower of vile blood as Myrandus' sword tore through its hide. With the combined forces of Myrandus' brutal swing and the creature's rampant charge, the gleaming blade ripped through the thick fur and ropy muscle like old parchment. The silky hair of Myrandus became matted with bestial gore as the left side of his ebony armor was painted red. Shards of bone pinged against the dark steel.

What remained of the monster tumbled along the hard ground, bouncing and spinning as its enormous weight propelled it, half dead, onwards, for a short while keeping pace with its companion. A thick pinwheel of blood spiralled from the gaping fissure in its side, marking its passage with a trail of newly muddied, sanguine ground.

The second beast wheeled around as it finally realized the injury to its brethren. The menacing light of its ruby eyes fixed itself on the grim warrior who had carved open its companion, and it loosed a roar which shook the decrepit branches of the trees.

Myrandus brought his sword in a neat circle with a snap of his forearm, splattering the ground with a fresh coat of blood. The elegant blade regained its gleam. The stormy eyes of a raven held the red gaze. The previous quarry writhed on the ground, clawing desperately for life.

Two shadows charged.