Valborast Valchek
New member
Invading strike sank deep and rumble in grizzly throat shot back, the sound wide arcing as head did turn and bray at forest full of camouflages with ears that knew hiding and stalking. Fish full, arrow lodged, the bear rose to full height to gain vantage to see the striker as it made it's complaint and promise of jaws to that which sent the driving shaft. Arrow pierced near vital, time the bears to wrath with before the final closing of wild eyes. It looked out, blood matting fur that would be torn apart for what lay beneath, and breathed in deep pulls in of it's bear snout to know the clearing's hidden better.
Eyes did not serve it.
The air did carry hint.
But not the one who had harmed it.
The beast so pierced knew not of reason or direction of an arrow's flight, and having scent of something to blame did place paws to thundering in it's direction, retaliation for the pain that seethed it so needed by it's brawn of survival. Each tread did encourage the arrow to snarl further blood, further growls as if the ammunition was driven in by hammer of what it had caught wind of.
The forest was a humble sort, full of herbs unusual and ferns that spanned wide and provided shade to things that crawled and ducked within. The proud tall trees none did threaten with the axe, pale things that were ivy gripped and rose high with canopy thin of evergreens. The nocturnal had their turn at feeding and hunting this hour, the bear had been rudely interrupted from it's returning to the slumber it needed, long standing over pond that gave the fattest moonfish when the moons were in part waning and had given up it's indulgent vigil. A final treat of that kind to add to it's feasting denied. The air, cool and inviting to those that hunted and hunted those who hunted them, did give sign of a man who was not to blame for it's pain. But accused and pursued all the same.
Those that did venture here did not carry axes to fell the trees, the mass tangle of shrubs and herbs that grew were wanted for a variety of needs. And by the low of tangled mass of natural arrangement, wide fingered ferns did scarcely conceal one who had come here for the darker roots and rich poisons of the earth given leaf form. A spider that that had crawled upon his hand loomed brown and wide and bulbous against his lithe fingers, gripping sickle that gave no reflection despite it's copper mask. Careful did one have to tend this crop he was cultivating for his need, slowness and stillness as not to stop one's heart with a brush too long with the poisons growing. And the roar, so sudden and alarming had almost driven him to quick reaction, to start and flinch, yet his nerves knew to hold fast or face the need for antidote, weathering the sound and staying within his business. Stillness was maintained, and he but hoped he was not the cause of complaint.
Quick dashed that hope. The sound of approaching beast, all paws and muzzle long of growling.
Fie to it, the man did think, his hope of hiding and pruning poison from the soil denied so utterly. His hand adorned by a quick moving spider that did not frighten, gripped with copper sickle half moon itself of shearing, his stillness and lowness was not enough hide himself herb gathering. He shook away the spider with quick shake of hand, sickle discarded as if to blame somehow as well, and rose from the low brush.
The Crimson Knight, a column of his colour, saw the brown beast blame him, direct, and charging, all shoulderblades shifting, eyes wincing from the hunting implement so working against it, paws pressing against the soil to make their meeting final.
And set himself away, no yelp of pain, but snarling curses as his boots knew escape from one so grounded. His litheness and gift with the shadows did elevate himself in springing step, and soon, the ivy did aid him as he scaled the rising bark so pale to his redness. Up, up climbing with hands that adorned themselves in weaving claws to scale himself up, small rends of a man who played at being beast to avoid one.
The bear was rapid in it's arrival. Below the tree that the Crimson Knight, Valborast, was the beast who did bleed, and roar, and place paw for climbing. It had climbed all it's life, and knew better than Valborast the means of climbing. But the arrow, the arrow did deny the strength to scale the tree that did protect it's assumed attacker.
And panting, did the bear lean against the tree, pain dulling to coldness, the muzzle panting for it's exertion, blood trickling, Valborast standing at mid distance of the tree on overhanging branch, looking down, without pity. Eyes to arrow, knowing the truth of it.
And looking out to the darkness of the forest, a snake of ivy beneath his feet that did embrace it, was Valborast, hoping that the hunter of this bear would make good of it. The sickle he left did gleam within the poison leaf, the bear leaning as it knew the arrow better, the Knight standing with blame to the archer in his heart, his face full of frustrations, clenching and eyes brewing discontents. Not for the kill of the beast encroaching, but for causing second hand the startle that would have tarnished his health by brush of toxic shrubberies.
He bade his time as the bear spent it's last. Valborast's shadow long and thin as he loomed in the overhead of it's dying moments, his boots on bark and ivy, in the half light of the moon that had given the bear no taste of the fish of it's namesake on the bear's final night.
@Tourmali
Eyes did not serve it.
The air did carry hint.
But not the one who had harmed it.
The beast so pierced knew not of reason or direction of an arrow's flight, and having scent of something to blame did place paws to thundering in it's direction, retaliation for the pain that seethed it so needed by it's brawn of survival. Each tread did encourage the arrow to snarl further blood, further growls as if the ammunition was driven in by hammer of what it had caught wind of.
The forest was a humble sort, full of herbs unusual and ferns that spanned wide and provided shade to things that crawled and ducked within. The proud tall trees none did threaten with the axe, pale things that were ivy gripped and rose high with canopy thin of evergreens. The nocturnal had their turn at feeding and hunting this hour, the bear had been rudely interrupted from it's returning to the slumber it needed, long standing over pond that gave the fattest moonfish when the moons were in part waning and had given up it's indulgent vigil. A final treat of that kind to add to it's feasting denied. The air, cool and inviting to those that hunted and hunted those who hunted them, did give sign of a man who was not to blame for it's pain. But accused and pursued all the same.
Those that did venture here did not carry axes to fell the trees, the mass tangle of shrubs and herbs that grew were wanted for a variety of needs. And by the low of tangled mass of natural arrangement, wide fingered ferns did scarcely conceal one who had come here for the darker roots and rich poisons of the earth given leaf form. A spider that that had crawled upon his hand loomed brown and wide and bulbous against his lithe fingers, gripping sickle that gave no reflection despite it's copper mask. Careful did one have to tend this crop he was cultivating for his need, slowness and stillness as not to stop one's heart with a brush too long with the poisons growing. And the roar, so sudden and alarming had almost driven him to quick reaction, to start and flinch, yet his nerves knew to hold fast or face the need for antidote, weathering the sound and staying within his business. Stillness was maintained, and he but hoped he was not the cause of complaint.
Quick dashed that hope. The sound of approaching beast, all paws and muzzle long of growling.
Fie to it, the man did think, his hope of hiding and pruning poison from the soil denied so utterly. His hand adorned by a quick moving spider that did not frighten, gripped with copper sickle half moon itself of shearing, his stillness and lowness was not enough hide himself herb gathering. He shook away the spider with quick shake of hand, sickle discarded as if to blame somehow as well, and rose from the low brush.
The Crimson Knight, a column of his colour, saw the brown beast blame him, direct, and charging, all shoulderblades shifting, eyes wincing from the hunting implement so working against it, paws pressing against the soil to make their meeting final.
And set himself away, no yelp of pain, but snarling curses as his boots knew escape from one so grounded. His litheness and gift with the shadows did elevate himself in springing step, and soon, the ivy did aid him as he scaled the rising bark so pale to his redness. Up, up climbing with hands that adorned themselves in weaving claws to scale himself up, small rends of a man who played at being beast to avoid one.
The bear was rapid in it's arrival. Below the tree that the Crimson Knight, Valborast, was the beast who did bleed, and roar, and place paw for climbing. It had climbed all it's life, and knew better than Valborast the means of climbing. But the arrow, the arrow did deny the strength to scale the tree that did protect it's assumed attacker.
And panting, did the bear lean against the tree, pain dulling to coldness, the muzzle panting for it's exertion, blood trickling, Valborast standing at mid distance of the tree on overhanging branch, looking down, without pity. Eyes to arrow, knowing the truth of it.
And looking out to the darkness of the forest, a snake of ivy beneath his feet that did embrace it, was Valborast, hoping that the hunter of this bear would make good of it. The sickle he left did gleam within the poison leaf, the bear leaning as it knew the arrow better, the Knight standing with blame to the archer in his heart, his face full of frustrations, clenching and eyes brewing discontents. Not for the kill of the beast encroaching, but for causing second hand the startle that would have tarnished his health by brush of toxic shrubberies.
He bade his time as the bear spent it's last. Valborast's shadow long and thin as he loomed in the overhead of it's dying moments, his boots on bark and ivy, in the half light of the moon that had given the bear no taste of the fish of it's namesake on the bear's final night.
@Tourmali
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