Journeys

GoldenDrakon sprang into action without even thinking. The skirl sentry obviously did not expect much resistance from alone and unarmed individual and rushed forward, brandishing his war axe. Drakon remained crouched down, waiting as the skirl bore down on him. At the last moment, Drakon rose, bringing his arms up and out in front of him, subsequently shoving the skirl’s arms wide as well. With a reverse motion, Drakon’s hands clapped onto the sides of the sentry’s head and twisted violently, snapping the skirl’s neck. The skirl jerked and spasmed, dropping his ax and with Drakon’s great strength, flung the dying sentry away.

With the howls and snarls of the other skirls close behind, Drakon sprang up, hurdling the still twitching sentry and bolted into the thick brush. He did not run far, only enough to place a thick screen of vegetation between himself and his pursuers. His wings opened and propelled him upwards, allowing him to quickly leap into the trees. With a final leap, Drakon settled onto a branch and hunkered down, clinging to the trunk with one arm as his keen eyes scanned the ground below. Watching, he saw two skirls following along where they thought Drakon might have fled through the forest, but he also saw the third and final skirl, following some ten feet behind the other two. Apparently, the spit-turner had paused to gather his own axe and fallen behind a few paces of his fellows.

Timing his move, Drakon dropped from his hideaway perch and fell through the air towards the last skirl. Several tree branches slapped and lashed at him as he crashed through them, causing the skirl to look upwards, but too late. Drakon crashed down, his feet striking the surprised skirl on the shoulder and back. The force of the blow and momentum drove the two down and Drakon’s weight literally smashed the skirl to earth. The dragon man took no chances however as his taloned fingertips slashed down, ripping and clawing before stepping back, readying himself to meet the renewed threat of the remaining two skirls.

Golden Drakon did not have long to wait. The two Skirls, apon hearing the commotion behind them, whirled around. They did not, however, attack immediately.

The draconic man would soon realise why this was so. The Skirls who had remained in the camp were either too old, or too sick to fight. They were still fantastic specimens of fitness and fierceness, but they nowhere resembled the physical prowess of those Golden Drakon had fought previously.

They were cunning however, and when Golden Drakon turned to meet them, they came at him at the same time. One high and one low, howling at the top of their lungs. Their attacks were co-ordinated and they helped eachother in battle. Unbeknownst to the dragon man, they were Litter Mates and had fought this way since cubhood.

Wulff blinked, he had been preoccupied and it appeared that the other's had left him in the forest, "Hey! Wait up!" The only problem was, he hadn't been paying attention to which way the others had gone. He paused, "Uhhh..." He made the small sound in his throat and looked around, his eyes darting around, "Ironman?" He called, a bit nervous before he turned towards a path, deciding to take the path least travelled and went to the East, he could smell the dragon man more strongly this way. He didn't really know him all that well (after all, he'd only just run into him) but he didn't seem all that unfriendly...

He bounded after the scent, his ears pricked in interest as he wandered all but blind through the thick forest, "Dragon man..." He was very quiet, slightly scared as the trees closed in on him on all sides. He ulped and crouched down, he was still a bit weak from his first transformation, and he knew it. He looked up to the trees maybe he could climb and claw away the hyena men.

He nosed around, following the scent half mindedly, not even really sure if he wanted to meet up with the dragon again, but he veered slightly, having absolutely no clue where he is. Maybe he should have followed Fluffy and Myst....

His mind was not entirely on the danger of the forest, something he would regret later, but hindsight was alway 20/20. He did vaguely register the sounds of battle, but unfortunately he didn't register it until he was on top of it, and he found himself between the Dragon man and two of the hyena's. The idle curiosity fell off his face into an expression of shock, as they paused in their charge and returned his surprised expression. He took that split second to do two things, first he bolted out of the way, second, he whirled and leapt at one of the skirls as they ran past him, grabbing his hair and landing on his back, piggy-back style, his legs curled nimbly around his waist and his arms tight around his neck, partially praying he wouldn't get flamed by the dragon man, or some, equally horrible, manner of retaliation he had in store for the skirls.

He yelped as he was dragged about, feeling the other move and twist and flail about, snarling as he felt the claws pull along his arm. He bit down on the back of the skirl's neck, locking his feet around his waist and holding on tighter. He wasn't strong, mostly he was fast and agile, but he did have the ability to cling.

He felt the other beneath him, between his legs, his teeth drawing blood, his arms tightening. More claws, he felt them bite into his shoulders as the skirl tried to reach for him over his back, pulling his shirt, gouging his shoulders and his back.

The Skirl was weakening and soon its scrabbling claws were slowing and doing less harm. Within minutes, it sagged onto the ground, its tongue lolling out as it gasped for air. It tried to crawl away, taking the young cub with it, but before it could go a few feet, it collapsed face first onto the ground, dead.

BlackWulff, you now have the choice of running away or staying to aid Golden Drakon. Your third option is to run to the now abandoned Skirl camp.

You may now acquire the dead Skirl's weapon.

Golden readied himself to meet the coordinated attack of the two remaining skirls when suddenly; the trio of combatants was taken aback as a new member threw himself into the fray. GD and the lead skirl watched for a moment as Wulff and Jager clashed and quickly became a whirling, snarling, flailing mass of fur. The lead skirl, momentarily distracted from the dragonman, turned and reached towards the new combatants. Drakon seized the moment and lunged forward, attempting to bull rush and tackle his remaining opponent.

The skirl reacted with a speed born from an age of fighting and skirmishing among a violent race. Taken off guard and without proper room to swing his axe, the skirl turned and side stepped, jabbing his axe forward, using the axe tip like a spear. Drakon’s charge missed and the ax tip stabbed into his left forearm, drawing blood. GD snarled as he passed, giving way to avoid a second jab, but as he passed, his tail whipped out in his wake, slapping against the skirl’s shins. The skirl stumbled, but did not fall and the two quickly righted themselves to faceoff again.

It was the skirl who attacked next, attempting to capitalize on his successful strike; he lashed out at GoldenDrakon with wide swipes from his weapon. Drakon fell back before the slashing blade then suddenly extended his wings and snapped them forward repeatedly. The skirl brought his arms up to ward off the sudden flurry of motion. With wings still held out high, Drakon slid forward and directed a vicious kick towards the skirl’s crotch.

The skirl reacts in typical fashion. Even a violent race such as theirs valued the right to procreate. He retreats with a snarl, clutching a paw on his crotch and twisting his knees inwards. Golden Drakon's strike only touches, but does little damage.

The skirl snarls again and advances towards the dragon man with axe held high. It was at that moment that the other skirl dies. With a howl, the skirl seems to feel his kin's death and a wild light enters his feral eyes. Turning with a wordless grunt, the skirl rounds his wickedly sharp axe at his litter brother's killer. Blackwulff.

Momentarily, he forgets the dragon man now at his back.


Golden Drakon, you now have the choice to come to Blackwulff's rescue or take advantage of the Skirls distraction to move onto the skirl camp, leaving the shifter to fend for himself.

The skirl suddenly howled and then...turned it's back to GD. The dragon hesitated for a moment, thinking it might be a trick, but sure enough the skirl quickly began to bear down on the young Wulff.

GoldenDrakon did not hesitate for long however. Seeing his opponent distracted, he lunged forward and practically jumped onto the skirl's back. One strong arm snaked around the skirl's neck and was quickly locked in place by GD's right arm. The dragon-man also stepped back, forcing the skirl's back to arch and overextend, making GD a much more difficult target to catch with the axe and limit the skirl's own mobility.

'Yeald!" GD hissed into the skirl's pointed ear. "I know you can understand me, so if you wish to continue breathing this day, drop your weapon and yeald!"

Wulff grunted as he fell with the skirl, his legs coming loose and he tipped forward, flipping frontwards over the skirl and landing on his back, nearly face-to-face with the hyena man. He yelped and leapt back, wincing. He had cuts and claw marks over his arms, his back and one or two across his face. He was sure he could feel blood running down the side of his face somewhere. He stood slowly, looking up as he heard another how, his face paling as he saw the second creature bearing down on him.

He gave a yell, scrambling to his feet and backing away, desperately trying to dredge up the energy for a change, but before he could, the dragon man came to his aid, thank god and hallelujah. He paused, unsure what to do, his eyes wide, very frightened, should he help the dragon? No, the dragon was strong enough that he could handle himself. He'd wait, see what he did, it was impolite to just run away.

The Skirl only snarls at Drakon and thrashes in the Dragon's strong grasp. It would never give up, not after his litter brother had been killed. Skirls were a peculiar sort. They took little care of each other, but sometimes, a special bond between litterlings were created. They usually did everything together, even to the point of sharing a mate!

His litter brother had died, and now, strangely, the Skirl wanted to join him. So he thrashed, baring claws and fanges and snapping his toothy maw. He snarled and fought, straining against Drakon's arms. He was slowly choking himself to death.

GD you now have two choices. Allow the Skirl to die, or prevent his death - be warned, the Skirl is now suicidal and will be hard to keep alive.

The skirl's reaction was much less the GoldenDrakon had hoped for as the kicking and thrashing became more violent, not less. GD added pressure with his grip, hoping to choke the creature into submission, but even as the skirl began to spit out ragged hacks and coughs, it still twisted and clawed in attept to either win freedom or death. The dragon's options were quickly becoming fewer and less appealing.

"So be it." he growled, still struggling to hold the frantic beast in his arms.

His lockig arm slipped down, letting the skirl inhale deeply at last, but the dragon's hand instead cupped the skirl's 'chin'. With a quick and savage jerk from left to right, the skirl's neck broke with a very audible cracking sound. Suddenly silenced, but not immobile, the skirl jerked and spasmed in the dragonman's arms, quickly at first, but rapidly slowing and becoming more and more feeble.

GD slowly lowered the creature down, turning it face down as he did. The creature was dying, but still might summon one last blow before slipping into the final darkness and GD did not wish to honor this creature with any more of his blood. It was only well after the last twitch had faded that GD released the skirl and stood up, surveying the scene around him.

He offered a single sigh before kneeling down to begin his search of the defeated skirls. The camp was still in need of review and he did not know how long it might be before the camp would be overdue and others come looking.

GoldenDrakon turned the now-deaceced skirl over with his foot, regarding the corpse with a half quizical look. They were odd creatures, these skirls and his analytical mind was filing and sorting bits if information he had gleaned from the fight even as he knelt and searched the body, curiosoty peaked to see if these skirls would also have the odd rose quartz and polished talons as well.

His search was quick, moving from one corpse to the other in his exploration. The shifter boy seemed paralyzed, shocked with the sudden explosive violence and death, partly caused by his own actions. He let him be, time enough would come for reflection about what he could have done, should have done, might have happened, soon enough.

His search completed, he moved into the camp, investigating the surroundings. The spartan bits and pieces told him things, whispered hints of secrets about the skirls to him and offered spoils of victory as well. The jewels and colored beads he took, dropping them into the pouches on his makeshift bandolier as he went from tent to tent. There was others tings which interested him, but he told himself that to be burdoned with trinkets would be foolish and left them behind. The furs stank, indicating their purpose was for bedding and warmth and made them worthless, but he did claim one of the long knives, the cleanest of the cloth, some rope and a large ball of twine as well as all of the water skins.

Setting his chosen bits down near the fire, GD shook out his cloth, laying it flat, then removed the spit from over the fire, laying the meat down upon the cloth. Whith strong slashes from the knife, he worked to hack the carcass into more managable chunks, bundling the meat into the cloth and throwing the spit into one of the tents when finished.

Lastly, the dragon seperated the still burning bits of six stumps of wood from the cooking fire.

"It is time to go boy." he called to Wulff, who was still looking sullen. "We have what we came for." he finished, pausing to fling a burning ember into each tent before moving out.
He was not worried about causing a massive fire, the surrounding wilderness was far to wet and green for that, but it would likely spell the destruction of the camp.

"Besides, we have to make sure that the others haven't gotten themselves killed."

He followed after the dragon man, partly paralyzed, partly numb, frightened, scared because he'd killed something, someone, who had moments before been living, alive, beneath his hands. "Oh god." He turned his head, burying his head in the bushes and vomiting up the contents of his stomach onto the ground. He knelt there, shaking for a bit, his teeth chattering, he convulsed, gagging, even when there was nothing left to hack up.

He eventually gathered himself, only to find the dragon man had already gone ahead. He leapt to his feet, his feet moving after him, chasing him. There was stuff all around, "What all this stuff?" he asked, picking up one of the idols, running his fingers over the wings, pretty. He watched the dragon with the gems and beads, dragons were known for hoarding, at least on Earth. He didn't want them anyways, taking a dead man's things was bad luck. But the idol. He kept that, and watched the dragon bring out a knife from one of the tents. He reached for the whip at his hip, should he get one too? No. Knives weren't his cup of tea.

He raised his head when the dragon man spoke to him, and stood up, stuffing away the idol, things were still a bit too much, and he still felt queasy, but he swallowed the thickness in his throat. He sighed, shaking slightly as he folded his arms tightly across his chest, he wanted to go back to Phoenix. He wanted to go back home. He swallowed, the first bout of homesickness really came to him, here, on the road, out in the middle of nowhere, with a dragon man, god. He dashed his eyes, he would not cry, not here, not now, and cleared his throat. He was fine. Perfectly fine.

GD retraced his steps back through the thick underbrush, trying to make as accurate a guess as possible, but the heavy growth and damp air made even his keen senses lose their way more than once.

He knew they were still making their way Westward but was unsure if they were following the same trail their companions had followed. The young shifter, Wulff followed behind, occasionally still sniffing and smelling like fear, confusion and remorse but following never the less.

"There is nothing that can be done about it." he finally said over his shoulder. "You did what had to be done and that is all. Had you not, you or I might be dead in their place."

He turned, handing three of the waterskins back towards Wulff. "Take a drink and please carry these. We still have a long way to go."

Wulff was practically swimming in stress, he couldn't get the feel of life leaving beneath his hands off. It made him shaky and unaware of his surroundings until the dragon man spoke to him. He raised his head, his eyes wide a bit, as he looked morosely at the dragon.

"I know." He said, sighing, "But it doesn't make it easier, y'know?" He didn't complain as he was handed the water skins, slinging them over his shoulder, glad for something to do as he took a drink. He looked through the undergrowth, it was so thick! How would they meet up with the rest? He hurried to catch up with the dragon man, the other's steps were much longer than his and made him take two steps for every one of his.

As it were, e kept his eyes mostly on the ground, to watch where he was going and watching the ground for anything that may turn his ankle or something like that. But the stones that littered his path made him tilt his head, and look for the next. Pretty. He knelt down, calling for the other to wait a second as he reached for one of the stones.

When the thing squeaked, he yelped and leapt back, landing flat on his ass, "It's alive!" He yelled, pointing at the stones, "It squeaked at me!"

GoldenDrakon had been tying his newly aquired quartz trophies into a ring with his borrowed twine. Elevin of the odd rose quartz triangles were now dangling from a loop on his bandolier. Clearly, these stones were important to the Skirls somehow in more than just a passing novelty or good luck charm. Every skirl had worn one around their neck and surrendered it only in death.

The things had begun exibiting more strange reactions when Wulff suddenly exclaimed from behind him. Turning, GD found Wulff on his backside, pointing at the stones that littered the narrow and winding path.

"Stones? What of them?" he asked, turning one over with his foot. They seemed common stones, aside from their unusual coloring.

He growled a bit, "It made a noise at me!" He protested, moving to the stones again and reaching, but it didn't make any noises anymore and they didn't skitter away. He frowned, huffing and reaching for them, but while the other watched him, he picked it up, funny tingling running up his arm and over his fingers as he played with it.

However the second, the very second that the dragon looked away and started playing with the rocks himself, he yelped loudly at the shock that ran up his arm and everything went dark as he collapsed in a heap on the ground.

As the creature ran at him Shadow had barely enough time to jump out of the way. He heard Reht scream something out about a secretion from its tusks and let out a silent curse. This place just seemed to get worse and worse and they were no closer to finding Wraith. He gripped his sword in his right hand and looked at the thing just to hear a sword to his right.

He turned towards the sound just to see another boar running towards him. Shadow knew there was no way he was going to get out of the way and gripped his chain tightly in one hand. He began to swing it in a slow arc and knew he had to wait for the right moment. He watched the boar coming closer and closer then at the last moment swung out with the chain, wrapping it around its tusks.

The boar let out a loud sound as the chain wrapped around its tusks and moved to run the other way but Shadow pulled back on the chain. He knew he was leaving himself open for attack by doing this so grabbed the chain as hard as he could with both hands, dropping his sword to the ground as he did and swung it.

He watched as the boar was pulled off its feet and swung around on his heels, swinging the thing just off the ground. As soon as he let it go he heard another squeal of and looked up to see it had crashed into the other boar.

Without a second thought he turned to Reht, "Don't just stand there. Run!"