Rois Sinclair

Rois Sinclair

Mr. Crocodile.
Weaver
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The forest was quiet. So… so… quiet.

In the hazy light of dusks onset, no birds came to flitter about the branches, no foxes squealed in the undergrowth, no snakes nor bats nor rabbits came to enjoy the twilight as they would have done throughout their entire existence. Standing there with bent legs, a doe with wild-eyes kept her bow-legged stance as carefully as she could, daring not to stir not a single leaf as her cloven hooves took a tentative step… nothing came. If animals were blessed with the ability to sigh in relief she would have done as much in that darkening moment, teetering perilously forward with another gentle tread. And nothing came. Maybe, amidst the smoke of the evening mist, there was nothing to fear in the yawning darkness between the trees, maybe that vague feeling of danger every one of those poor beings felt were but a trick of the mind, a rouse; and as she raised a tilted head to spy an owl hidden, pressed against the crook of a tree in absolute quiet, she dared to let the moment pass her without any show of prior carefulless--

The snapping of a twig was like a gunshot.

Suddenly filled with panic the doe started forward with a bleat, only to find the world spinning around her as she came crashing to the ground. Brown eyes swept backwards, horror, the entire back half of her body was missing and the spilling of her innards came with such delayed pain that she suddenly could not stop her catawailing-- but even that was silenced in an instance as great jaws crushed her into nothingness and swallowed the second half down greedily. All that remained was the dark puddle of blood… and, in its endless hunger, the patch was devoured as the jaws bit at the earth until only a few scattered drops remained and mud lined its yellowing fangs.

And the beast was gluttony given form. A huge, black and red being that crawled upon its belly, carving a great trench into the earth wherever it so roamed; so slow in its movements that one would not think it would be capable of any real speed. However, when the owl shimmied but a touch to the side it took less than a second for those terrible jaws to simply cleave the tree in two, chewing ravenously upon the wood and the rot like a rabid dog. Shards fell from on high, it came down from two legs back onto its front, and wistfully watched the erratic bird climb into the sky… a miss. But there would be more. It shook its flabby hide free of branches and twigs and foliage and once again began to drag itself forth with splayed front claws digging deep into the ground, waiting for something, anything to catch its ever swivelling eyes.

It was the mist, the cool air against its burning hide, the sway of its tall spikes, the crumbling of teeth falling and regrowing and falling once again. And it had one thing on its mind.

Consume. ​

 
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There behind the cover a great stone, the Cazadore sat. Greatsword runed with magicked seals as it was, leaned against his shoulder, and gleaming, long and full of its mortal's menace.

Could feel the beast rumbling through the woods as it was.

Graceless. For power knew no grace.

Ravenous, For gluttony knew no satisfaction.

And we would know all about that, wouldn't we, Oh Bearer Mine? Tittered Belephus.

His right hand tightened about its own bones. Felt the dig of claws there against his flesh. Scarred and mangled as it was. Withered and husked. But so much his own. He rumbled with the laugh as the soil about him rumbled with the murder of the deer and the slugging of the great beast across the lifeborne earth.

A fiend. Corrupter. Devourer. What happy day, whence his green eye had laid upon that Caza Script, so posted in that Den.

South Ilica, Within the Chandrakanti Forest
Hunting ground: The Southern Bosque, Los Pinos de Fuego

Presa: Shroudfiend, Arc Class

Insatiable and monstrous. True size unknown. Trackers estimate it is massive. Capable of halving big game in single bite.

Nothing in its path is safe.

Gana: Bounty is currently at Ten Gold Pieces of Maldizia.

It rumbled on. Stupid for all its lack of awareness. But why would it need to be aware of such a small meal? Til the rumbling felt distant. That's when Garrod would pick up his kit, and follow after the creature. Study. Prepare. He had already found it. The rest was just a matter of time.

So he stalked.
 

And it was not for lack of hunger that Gluttony itself did not realize it was being stalked; it was due to sheer stupidity.

When one was overcome with such powerful, impure thoughts, it left little room for logic. It simply did not think anything would ever watch it, and so it did not notice the other following it whatsoever as it clambered on slowly like a bulldozer, the heat of its hide causing the air to shimmer and sparkle as great bellows of white smoke came from its monstrous jaws. Trees did not fall but sweep themselves low and snap as it occasionally got itself caught between them, and lacking the thought to simply choose another path it simply struggled onwards with a long snout overturning masses of roots and tossing boulders aside as if they were made of paper; because the forest was only silent when it stopped moving.

And it only stopped moving when it had spotted something.

The oncoming moonlight had betrayed Garrod.

Whatever steel he bore upon his persons shined, a single flash in the dark, and all of a sudden the astral veil of the coming night disappeared as the titan raised itself high, higher than the treetops with splayed claws catching and breaking the branches over and over to lend itself to splintering trunks-- had there been something there? Rivulets of burning saliva poured from teeth the length of arms, was something living there? It did not know Garrod was right in front of it, even though the gap between them had been closed in a single action. It did not possess the ability to see past its long nose, but something had to be there. For a few heart beats, the only sound was the trees crumbling, lowering the large, heavily breathing beast back onto the ground--

But if something was there then something is there and something can be living and it could be mine it could be mine--

And with uncanny speed, the beast suddenly lunged at the hunter, missing him by meters as its impact caused the earth to spike towards the heavens before shattering to charred pieces, the surrounding foliage to begin to smoulder beneath its flattened touch, smoke and embers, the school-bus sized monster had no roar to grace the stalkers ears with; but upon finally noticing him with black-white eyes, its tail in the distance cracked like a whip,

Mine mine MINE M̵I̷N̸E̴--

Like lightning the image flashed of jaws, the top and bottom row, abruptly appearing upon the hunters left and right, about to crush--
 
A laugh barked out of him.

"Such speed!" he cried as all that beast wrecked itself against the world about them. The wall of heat that followed it, whooshed there in its thermal trail kicking up rocks that pinged and panged off his armor plating. White shock of hair flared out and whipping before it settled. Grinning mad, he took hold of his sword. Grip twist about its long hilt, and his feet found their footing, his ankle twist. The runes of wind and lightning came to light upon the dark road of his monster slayer, He windstepped away from the creature and all its snuffling snaps.

Moved like a blind thing. A mole, mixed with some great burrowing lizard. While its jaws. He laughed. Those gods damned jaws.

Eye wide on it, he saw its mass coil. Just a twitch. Before it sent its wagons worth of weight careening towards him with giant mouth wide open.

Feet planted on the backfoot. He channeled cool zephyrs there to meet the blasting heat. The air about him howled. A spiraling gale whipped about him. Greatsword, least as big as one of the bastard thing's big ass teeth, whipped about in a whirling tempest. A steel clad dust devil tore away from the snap. The chomp bit down on his blade. And if the thing were made from anything other than dragon's bone and revenant steel, he was sure it would break instead of hang from the fucking bastard thing's mouth like a giant toothpick.

But the recoil of the bite. The gods damned recoil. That was enough to snap the bone of his left arm from its socket at the elbow. The wicked pop sent shocks through Garrod's system. He grit his teeth. Gripped harder with his white clad hand, and ripped the blade free.

Snagged a rogue chunk of meat flung through the air with a chomp of his own. Didn't give a damn if it burned his lips or seared his tongue. Sizzled till it cooled enough to chew and pass down.

The jewel on his gauntlet gleamed. Laughed. That's it, Oh Bearer Mine! Belephus sounded ecstatic there in the black of Garrod's mind. Feed me more. A green flame roared to life. Gout out of vents there in the gauntlet. Flashed through his blood with a lance of pain. A crackled. Pop. Low sound of bones going back to place.

With a gale force step, Garrod stayed on the things sides. Head on was a death sentence.
 
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… How did humans control the weather? Humans could not control the weather, could they? The wildes had been so still, but now it sang like the wailing of banshees as heat and lighting and the erratic current rocked the canopies and sent hiding creatures scrambling for cover as it surged all about them, and it was confusing, because the human was not dead. Weren’t humans supposed to die easily? Gluttony did not remember the last time a human actually fought back, for they usually ran, and it chased, and it closed its jaws and they were gone. That was how it always went. Bits of flesh and skin, sinew barely keeping limbs together, the crying of some spectator who then, too, became a smear of mangled meat upon the ground beneath claws… was their protective shiny-stuff not supposed to buckle and bend like twigs caught amidst a hurricane? Why, why, why was this one still living, and fighting back…?

It had been so surprised by the unusual that the tearing of the audacious blade brought a mental shock to its system, for it brought with it a stained tooth flying waywards into the darkness when it was torn back; and the faintest trickling of boiling blood. It had been so long since it had tasted this… so much so that it briefly forgot about Garrod in favor of erratically opening its hulking, crocodilian jaws to run a long, pulsing tongue manicly over and over at the oozing gap like a starving dog,

And this is mine it’s mine its--

… But there was something curious afoot. Perhaps a smarter demon would know that the sudden emerald glare of the others gaudy hand-piece was not merely another magic trick from a human that knew magic tricks; there was something wrong, something like the natural flow of the world suddenly becoming tighter and harsher and, and, if it had the words to describe it… it would know. But it didn’t. For the period of its thought, Garrod had bared witness to the large beast simply laying there with its slobbering tongue still working at the hole as it attempted to glean just what was wrong with the scenario… the not-dead man. Lightning and fire. The unbent sword.

No, no, there was nothing wrong, and the moaning of the breeze was dying--

Slow, quick, slow, quick, it suddenly became a blur as it came about him with a sharp turn; a snake to its tail, encircling him in a manner that physically manifested itself by the trench carved into the earth, its tiny back legs struggled to keep it standing as that glowing red mouth opened… but this time it was not the rush of teeth that came; steam. It suddenly gushed forth white and hot and was exhaled like pale fire, the sizzling mist rolled over Garrold’s form, up its own sides and tumbled about the wobbling monsters form as cinders began to float in the way of glowing leaves. The earth began to smoulder and harden, high, high into the night the bellowing smoke began to tumble upwards, oh, surely the human could not survive this?

Blisters, oozing puss, cracked skin, burning blood, oh, it snapped its jaws repetitively in a clack-clack-clack in delight and let its eyes roll backwards in its skull, delicious, delicious things, a charred body, ashes and splintered bone, once again betwixt bent teeth drool began to gush as it eagerly looked down from its wavering spot to see the aftermath……..
 
Whip quick. Fuck.

You really stepped into it this time, Oh Bearer Mine.

Sure as the Shattered Mirrors he did. Saw that massive jaw come open. Red as the gasping mouths of the Mheara. Then came the searing white. Steam. He grinned the wider. Dug his bootheels into the ground, laid the road of his monster killer greatsword across himself. Caught the main stream of the vaporous blast there on it. But how it swirled. Stung. Choked and cooked.

Were he a normal man. He'd likely been knocked by the shock. The sheer agony of having his skin and his limbs steamed to set his blood to literal boil.

Were he so lucky.

"Bel-" he wheezed. Coughed. Lungs fighting the searing suffocation. "Belephus!" He hissed through teeth he felt might pop. And oh how the fiend within its jewel howled with laughter.

1780854037793.webpOpalescent and shimmering auroric green, the jewel crackled with wells of stored power. Its plate spreading. Growing. Almost a crab cracking out it's own shell in fresh molt. Gauntlet spread up the bones and flesh of its bearer to encase a pauldron. To grow a gorget and spawn helm. The helm snapped shut over the Fiend Bearer's visage like it were his true head come to chomp its place back atop his neck. What was left was a pronged and wicked bascinet. A single green eye flaming there in the darkness enclosed behind it.

Right hand spread wide it's horrid pale claws. Clutched down to fist.

The big stupid red thing was wriggling with excitement. Clacking its grotesque jaw.

"Oh HoW wRoNg YoU aRe, YoU iDiOt BeAsT!" White clawed right hand spread like lightning forking across the sky. Mortal's body couched the monster killer greatsword against their steaming armored frame. Point long to the snapping maw. The white daggerous claws clicked against the black road of the sword. Scraped sparks across its savage surface.

Lightning flashed forward. Superheated the steam to ignite.

Boom went the steam cloud¹.

Laugh did the Fiend turned pale and shimmering green armor.
¹ Flash point - When something flammable reaches a high enough temperature to combust.
 

Suddenly, all was red and green and the darkness fled the dance.

The hungry beast, who had been so excited to feast upon torched flesh reeled backwards at the revelation that the humans head… was no longer human. That rolling voice was no longer the thickly accented one that had laughed at it from the shadows, had raised a sword to crack aged teeth. Like a parasite it had spread from the arm to lick the sky with static electricity, the leaves trembled, the burning ground now licked by the ever-sharp tongue of lightning turned to ash beneath the two’s prolonged show of power and swept itself up into a frenzy when the pale haze burst. Embers. Sparks. Too hot to even burn, the trees around them began to bend and warp and the whip-crack in the air was bark splintering; and Gluttony was a creature of heat. That was why, when it suddenly recoiled violently, it was not through fear of burning or lightning.

It was through recognition.

This ghostly visage came from beyond the beyond. Another true monster… and it spoke. Black eyes rolled in their sockets as the great beast was not so eager suddenly to face the blade thrust in its direction, panicking with the long sweep of its nose to bash its skull into the actively decaying trees, no, if the human had a real Fiend with it, then the human knew… he knew how to trap. Being tied to a living body was one thing, but to a human tool...? The man surely knew how to snatch those higher, darker beings and stuff them into things, relegate them to lowly servants, steal away the length of freedom they had struggled so fervently to obtain outside of the inky vastness of the void beyond the curtain of life itself. Worse still, monsters killed other monsters all the time, humanity was doomed against the many-fanged devourer but Fiends…? The embodiment of Gluttony did not want to fight-- fighting would be pointless, Fiends tasted foul-- and neither did it want to die or be chained, it wanted to eat and eat and eat and now, now the delicious aged flesh of this wayward soul was marred by the darkness itself, a darkness it knew too well.

It lingered no more, as the shimmering died like stars falling to earth in the humid, fragrant air, the beast turned tail and fled-- red, strange flames began to eat away at its blubbery form as claws dragged it through the bushes slowly, heated, disgusting breath heard in the way of heavy snuffling. It was… disappearing. Like the folding of the burnt leaves rising in the wind it dissolved into a mass of heavy black smoke that clung low to the ground, reminiscent of morning fog, and in an instant there was no longer a humongous crocodile to fight.

There was a man, however.

Sitting up with the dark smoke rolling about his very naked form, the owl-eyed, messy haired red-head looked around erratically at the mess of shattered trees, burned bushes, the disturbed ground…

“Oh… Gods be damned.” Rois hissed angrily with squinted eyes, barely able to see through the darkness; but there, afar, shrouded in holy white and green light-- Oh Gods indeed. The haunting sight of the monster afar caused his breath to hitch, he had seen many-a creature in his time, they all wore elation upon their marred faces well… and wanted for nothing for blood. He felt his heart begin to pound in his ears, arms immediately raising in a dramatic ‘I surrender’ position as he began to babble aloud in a pitched voice,

“F-Fiend! Whatever business you had with the beast you just saw, it is no business of mine! It is gone! I am merely a very naked man, I pose no threat to you! If you want for flesh, I will supply you, just please leave me be!”
 
A laughter peeled out from the swirl of cinders and smoke left there in the horrid hungry fat thing's wake. The forest about them turned to bent matchsticks. Warped and carbonized to crispy stillness.

"YoU rUn, NoW? gLuTtOn?" the white headed fiend reverberated within the wild grinning helm atop the mortal man's body. Its singular flaming eye of ravenous green flame, spilling and flickinger about the helm's left eye slit. Expressive as cosmic wind caught across the eight moons, and all the belt of their embrace there about. "aFtEr YoU DARE tRy AnD tAkE wHaT iS sO cLeArLy MiNe!" another roll of metallic rumble come out of them, stepping easy in the flamed out trail the massive beast left behind. Sword hefted and rested against shoulder as wielder and tool cut through the trail of shroud spun smoke.

Followed that black fog that snaked and wound through the ruin of the forest so charcoaled about them. What stubborn branch and twig still clung to its moisture, catching fire and turning to ash at their approach.

And when there was but a man. Grovelling before him, the Pale Fiend but went on, ever grinning its snarled smile. Eye of flame studying the mess before them. And the proposition.

"GoNe?" the multichorded voice of the Fiend tested. "gOnE lIkE tHe StArS, cOmE dAy'S lIgHt, MoRtAl." another crackle of flame flickering laughter. Another roll of distant thunder, hidden there in the green fire that burned from the pale helm. White clawed hand put forth. Fingers fanned and curled. As if to test its own grip."BuT yOuR pRoPoSiTiOn InTrIgUeS mE," a low, glassy cackle. The eye of green fire seemed to widen there in the aurora of its burn. The helm craned, and the grin of pale shimmering chitin seemed to widen. Just a touch. "JuSt HoW mUcH iS yOuR cOiL wOrTh To YoU, Oh WrEtChEd HoSt Of GlUtToNy?" Want to eat, too clear in all the shattered glass and ground up bones there in that shifting voice.

The runed greatsword still loomed.
 

Fiends were all the same.

They took and took, for it was in their nature to steal everything between death and life itself. As disastrous as such a nature was, however, it was also a sort of critical weakness that let ones foot slide against the proverbial door of opportunity, for there never was a thief in history that could not be bargained with.

And he was a salesman.

“A-Aye, it will come again. But it isn’t like you, because you are clearly intelligent, and the beast is not. It ran away frightened.”

Rois was used to outwardly suppressing emotion. It was one of the tricks of the trade, especially when emotion ran as hotly through him as blood, so although his heart still pounded and his hands possessed a slight quiver, the half-fiend chose the moment to allow a measured amount of confidence to wash over him… this was just another monster. Slow, deep breaths as the red-head pulled his tall form into a slow, uneasy stand… and he had dealt with monsters before, lived with one wriggling about at his core, killed them for their parts, and he hadn’t died yet. Fire, too, he knew fire, even if now it wore an unnatural colour and threatened to lick the planes of his toned body, edged by sparks and honed by the ever looming tip of the great sword-- the heat was building. The forest was crying in pain from its scars, reopened savagely by Belephus’s persistent and savage presence, and though the half-man half-carapaced creature had swept the smoke aside it still stung in Rois’s throat, causing his voice to become strained.

“No, no, not me,” Wheezed, an uneasy smile playing upon his lips, hands still in the surrender pose, “Is it human blood and flesh you want for…? I have access to it. A lot of it. After all, I must supply my own beast! It seems that sharing in such a substance in apology for whatever harm has befallen your human host at my own Fiend’s claws is the most logical and kindly move, right…?”

It would also save his own hide too, naturally. Because the Gluttony Fiend did not want for blood and only flesh, and blood itself had very little value on the market, his mind immediately fixated upon possibly the most cursed container within his caravan’s encampment…

… The slop-hold.

Five meters tall and made of glass encased within shaped wood, the slop-hold was a level of disgusting that was kept away from the eyes and any and all but the staff. Its contents was excess blood, for hung humans possessed a horrid quantity of the stuff that needed to go somewhere, consistently chilled by magicks to near-freezing so that it did not rot within its holdings. Half coagulated, the substance was dumped every three days within dig-outs as to not arouse suspicion, but it was not entirely composed of blood… within its dark, mottled depths, it held terrible secrets in the forms of meat-cuttings that people never bought or wanted. The lips, the eyes, the bladder, spleen, appendix, ears, vocal chords, and the father of glory itself, the ring of the anus, all washed and dumped to make a nightmarish stew. Confidence in the substance took hold of Rois just a little more as his clawed hands were lowered ever so slowly…

“... You just calm down… and follow me. I can’t have you destroying all my hard work in your blood-lust, hm?” His tone was hopeful, despite standing there with his cock and balls out whilst conversing with a demon. Suppressing a heated cough and managing to meet its wild ‘eyes’ in in a gaze, “I am not your enemy. I can be a very valuable friend to you.”
 
More peeled the laughter from the armored throat. Down came the great-sword. Smash went the heavy blade against the earth. Its magicked runes glowed as green flames licked along the tool's edge.

"YoU sPeAk As If AdDrEsSiNg SoMe FoOl MaRk, HoStLiNg," the fiend within the helm barbed. Its green fire eye swirling and tonguing about the gap in the bone-white headpiece. White claws lashed to set dagger points to the broad span of the greatsword with nary a tink. The mortal body, and the white helm, hunched forward, the human spine bent so wild it looked like it might break if it did not spring. "BuT WhY wOuLd I eAt YoUr HuMaN dReGs," A lift of the sword, point set there to the apple of the man's throat. "WhEn YOOOU aRe cLeArLy ThE pRiMe CuT oF mEaT?" the laugh rumbled and shook through the bent body like a clatter of bones.

The sword's point shaved up across tendon and vein. Easy as letting a finger move to caress. The blade's edge gleamed as it stopped just bellow the eye.
 
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“-- And you are speaking to me as if I am just another human.”

He did not know what kept him standing there; maybe it was the knowledge that he could not outrun the twisted form of the creature, maybe it was the lightest scraping of the swords sharp tip against the bump of his throat, but maybe it was simply audacity. Rois’s lip quivered to flash gum and teeth as his eyes narrowed, never leaving the armored skull, not flinching when a line of red was drawn upon his cheek; ever so slowly came the thinnest drop of blood to wind downwards, running against the hard cut of his jaw. If he hated that he was scared, he hated that he was becoming frustrated more.

“I said you were intelligent. Does this statement still stand, when you would rather take the life of one over gorging yourself on many?” A quick flick of his tongue to smear the blood-line, daring to sound… almost pissed off. Sharper. The smarter part of his mind was begging him not to anger the Fiend any further, but the playful tone Belephus choked out words was beginning to lick at him as the flames of their brief tussle had before,

“I offer you relief, and still you lust for my Fiend-tainted form over a large measure of pure human blood? Are you not hungry??” A sudden smile, halfly fueled by arrogance, and the other half by the disbelief in himself that he’d keep talking in such a manner even when faced with danger-- he was losing his fear. It was dissipating like the last of the rolling fumes of the acrid, burnt forest, giving way to anger, anger that made him think back to the times when he had wished with all his might that such an offer was extended out to him in the beginning days. The starvation… the starvation, memories as sharp as the sting of his cut, the welling of strong emotion rising to be tasted bitterly in the back of his throat,

“Does your master feed you well, then? I suppose he must, for you to be so choosey. Go on then, do what you must.” The flashing of red in defiant eyes, as if he knew something the other did not-- “And let us see where your lack of greed leads you.”
 
All the bluster. All the daring. It was a minor miracle the fiend did not lop the insolent mortal's head off then and there, well before the final ushering unto violence. "To ThInK, GlUtOnNy'S hOsT wOuLd Be So BoLd," the the pale fiend's voice was shrill with glee. "ArRoGaNt, AnD sTuPiD. sUrE!" More laughter poured out of him. Blade shaking and shimmying in the white clutch of his hand. "BuT bRaVe?!" the green fire eye squint, too pleased. "No, nO, i SuPpOsE eVeN a RaT wIlL fInD cOuRaGe WhEn It'S cOrNeReD,"

Up went the blade. Down went the cut. Edge aimed to sever down across the neck and straight through the bones. That sword made to cleave through monster bones and break through wyvern scale struck. Down. Stopped. There just a fraction of a measure did it bite into the swell of bulging trap.

The arm hung still as stone. Still as a statue. There with most its weight in the air. Edge sunk in and welling with dark red blood.

"YoU sTaRs DaMnEd FoOl," Belephus growled. "YoU wOuLd StOp Me In ThIs?!" Belephus shook. Growled grit. All the black armor trembled. All the white chitin shook. The white head and all its horrible teeth laughed. "Go On ThEn. Go On AnD sEe WhErE tHiS tAkEs YoU, oH bEaReR MiNe!" Cracks spread across the white helm as it peeled open like a husk freshly cracked. The pink molt that came out as the shell fell away ran slick with a viscous membrane. White shock of hair, matted with sweat and plasma.

Garrod gasped a desperate breath. Pulled the sword up, and let it fall behind him with a heavy clunk and a stumble step as he bent there under the weight of all he had just lived through. Pulling desperate lungfuls of air as his missing eye bled prismatic blood from its open wound. His right eye, still mortal flesh and blood was blown wide and shaky.

His attention snapped to the red maned man. Back down to his sword. A huff through his teeth as the last of the white armor sloughed off him like a shed exoskeleton. Only the bone white gauntlet, and its gleaming jewel remained. He hefted the sword up, and started move away without a word.
 

“I am bolder than it.”

By a measure, too, now that the initial impact of its presence had worn off-- yet. Even if Rois knew the demon within would carry them both to safety should any real damage be dealt, it did not lessen the sudden fright that overcame him when the great sword came down to bite harshly at the crux of his throat-- a heavy flinch, a gasp, he’d turn, he had to turn or die, give himself up on a plate to the monster that wished to burst forth. But... death didn't come. It stalled... and so did he. As the sharp edge held there with the winding of hot blood coming to thickly run against the grooves of his chest, the red-head was distracted from the others struggle with an endeavor that mirrored Garrod’s own-- Belephus was out and being suppressed, Gluttony was in and suddenly being suppressed. He felt his fangs lengthen and his vision blurred as if mud had been dashed against his eyes, black crawled across his body like a snake coming to devour his skin, Gods, it wanted to leave, wanted to writhe and thrash against the earth and crawl into whatever pit deep down it could… but Rois would not let it. He did not have to turn, staticly realized, as the buisness man's bleary vision was being treated to the hideous sight of a man was being birthed from the insectoid skeleton that had once claimed the strangers flesh. Revolting. Disgusting.

And he knew what disgusting looked like.

He would wrestle control back one shakey gasp as a time, trying to desperately seem like he wasn't as worn as he felt. The one eye’d man was bleeding-- good-- but it wasn’t the time to simply turn tail and flee. A rough growl rolled about in his throat as blood-stained hands reached up to push the inky welts that were forming upon his forehead, the budding of horns unfurling upon the butchers brow like flowers in bloom unfurling, and Rois began to march. March past Garrod, to stand in front of him with a stomp, a stallion snorting and kicking up dirt with anger.

“-- You don’t get to just walk away.”

If the poor sod before him tried to turn to wander about him, Rois would simply turn in favour to once more be in the way-- and indeed, like the posturing stallion, he was a large beast with wild hair pacing in the dirt with his cock slapping his inner thigh with every step. It was a nice cock. A great cock, even. He didn’t mind the other revelling in what a real man should look like, especially with all the psuedo-alien-human birth he had just witnessed with the other being produced from slime and scale.

“I’m not scared of fiends,” He pretended as if the v-shaped nook cut from the top of his collar didn’t matter (it did, it really did) as he smeared hot, dark blood across firm pectorals, “I don’t know where the hell I am or who the fuck you are, but you and your parasite attacked me, even when I offered the damned thing succor.”

… Rois was offended and slighted and hurt and bullish and lost, but desperately wanting to get a grip on the situation. The last thing he knew was his camp, before having awoken upon the scorched forest floor with a demon gnashing and snarling over him-- and maybe it stung that his fiend had fled, and maybe he wanted to fight, maybe he wanted some spiced pork and apple stuffing, and maybe he just wanted to lay down on the ground and sleep. He was not sure, because he was not used to things more powerful than he confronting him… and admitting that burned hotter than the split flesh of his torso. His voice became highly strung, seething with the embarrassment that someone had some kind of strange authority over him as opposed to his nakedness,

“Start talking, now. I want details as to what happened here.”
 
Whatever Rois was trying to pull, Garrod gave two shits over. He growled, lips snarled and teeth bared. His hands were sure about the hilt of his monster killer blade, stance coiling and loosing in that way of predators, getting ready to kill. Dueling messer still at his waist.

"You've a bounty on your head," he smirked. Foot shifting, to better angle the blow he promised. "Well, the other you, has a bounty on their head," distance measured, movement imagined. "The big one," Didn't matter if this fuck turned into that fat horror again. Not unless he could do it in the blink of an eye. "I don't feel like dealing with it anymore," his smile turned sure grin.

"Now, get the fuck out of my way," he'd aim for the neck.
 

‘You’ve got a bounty on your head.’

That was no surprise given the rampaging nature of the beast-- an affair that he never remembered-- but what was surprising was the lack of vigor from the snarling ‘old’ man as he spat his words and turned away… a hunter that knew the horrors of what it meant to be claimed by a Fiend, and yet, still would not take a blade to a person…? Coward. All men knew in their heart of hearts that it was the lesser of the evils to slay a dragon over a knight. His mood turned sassy having been given the information he wanted,

“You’re not gonna’ claim it, you wrinkly old fuck,” Said Rois, who was only a few years younger than the sword wielder afar, “Because next time, you’ll die. You and your wank-stain of a demon. I promise.”

He took no heed of the threat that had arisen in the glint of a blade turned to bite at him and rose a hand with the pinky up, immaturely wagging it as the taller of the two took a large step back to allow the other to go. The other was right in some ways... he didn’t feel like dealing with fighting again either, not after the battle-high had long gone, not after the wind reminded him he was standing with his ass out in the middle of nowhere. Not turning until he was a good measure away from the hunter, Rois turned and began to head off back to where he thought the road was, knowing he’d have to spend the next hour searching for his own damned camp with every twig, bush and leaf touching him in places he’d rather not be touched.

[ END ]
 
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