Thar Shaddin

Lightning pierced through the dark clouds like a jagged phallus thrusting at the barren earth with rage more than passion. Rage at the infertility of the brown earth. The rage echoed within Damion as he fumed over the meagre, shrivelled vegetables he had been forced to buy at Shim. The farmers had blamed it on the earth too. The hard, unyielding earth.

In the distance, he could see the woods materialising with the majestic steel grey sky behind it like an ugly tapestry. His cart lurched and jerked on the uneven road and Belal - his pony - fussed over every single step. Without thought, he cracked his whip at the animal and sneered.

As the breeze slightly picked up, he raised the hood of his cloak, covering his red hair and hiding his deep-set grey eyes further in the dark. He clucked Belal along to hasten her. Damion felt the familiar swooping sensation in his stomach as the woods drew nearer. His palms started to sweat even in the nippy air and his eyes brightened.

Belal seemed to know today was one of those days. She stepped cautiously into the woods, and Damion's eyes darted everywhere, willing any concealed figure to visibility. As the pony reached a bend in the path, he prodded her into the thicket, using his whip to move the overhanging thorny branches. The cart's wheels creaked as they moved over sturdy roots and sharp stones.

Finally, he reached a clearing and he seemed to be no stranger to that place. He quickly set about unfastening Belal's stirrups and securing her to a tree. He once again let his eyes wander, hoping to pick out the outline of some beast or other. He touched his short-sword to feel the solid metal. But there was no security in metal. Or anything visible.

He gathered twigs and dead leaves, and placed stones over them to keep them intact. He then started a fire in the middle of the clearing, the smoke carrying with it the smell of burning sage. The smell was heady and he crouched in front of the fire, his hands trembling.

It was as if the thing had been waiting for him to give in. It came in a rush - like molten lava flowing through a valley of flowers. Like a torrent, it threatened to engulf him - threatened to take him down. He gritted his teeth as sweat popped out on his forehead. The clearing seemed to bend and sway like an unreal sea - and leaves became huge green carpets floating mysteriously from above. The pulse quickened.

Concentrate!

Suddenly, a flame from the fire leaped higher than the rest. It shivered and slithered like a serpent uncoiling rapidly. The flame grew many tongues and danced in front of his eyes. His mouth was slightly open and drooling as he moved the flame around, making it sway sensuously and curl into a ball.

This was the only security. And the only hope! The answer to the dying earth and the dying mankind. The power filled him completely, making him light-headed. The answer was magic. The only reality was this invisible being gripping him like an iron vice. He exalted in the embrace of the force pulsing through him.

The now was bad. It had been bad each time she'd thought about it. She couldn't help but think about it and muse over such fleshy things because her ability to move and relax and traverse the land as was her wont had been greatly reduced by the injuries the beast had given her. That beast, the one she'd never seen before. The next time though, she'd take care of its animosity. Fleshy thoughts. Not good enough. Food, food was what she needed. Survival. Dying in a puddle of fleshy thoughts -- that was unfitting.

Deilakrion forced herself to her feet, and away from the shelter of a nearby tree. That she was slightly dizzy was a problem; food had been hard to catch due to the long and jagged gash along her outer left thigh. It was shallow, and for that she was lucky, but it was long enough to throw off her balance, and to cause pain at every step. Still, she'd lived through such situations before, and she would again. And, of course, the teeth marks that circled from back to front didn't help matters, and any strenuous movement caused them to ooze. She'd have to sit in the river until her teeth chattered from the cold.

The sky above mocked her moody thoughts, and she snarled at it. Her bared teeth did little but remind her of why her stomach was empty. Right. Lack of food. Troublesome. She had caught a rabbit not too long ago. Had it been before she'd seen the moon? She frowned and walked forward, doing her best to keep quiet. It wasn't enough. She'd lost enough fat on her journey away from the troublesome fleshes who had tried their best to kill her. She'd have to start chewing on the green things in the area, and that didn't always work out for the better. Still, her stomach rumbled at the thought.

It was the smell of fire that distracted her. Fires meant, on occasion, food. She was hungry enough, and she wandered in that direction. She had to pause not a few times to sniff at promising holes. Another rabbit wouldn't be amiss, especially if they were fat. She swallowed back the saliva that particular proposition beckoned, and continued on. Bruises and sore muscles --along with the more open wounds -- complained vigorously as she neared a clearing and the fire contained within. She paid them no heed, focusing instead upon the climb that would give her the best vantage. She shimmied out onto a branch, and felt something along her leg split open, causing her to hiss in pain as she shifted to relieve the tension in that area. Blood trickled over, and it distracted her.

The distraction, as it turned out, would prove the more painful.

"EeeeyAGH!"

Foliage snapped, and the very distinct sound of a body hitting the ground would be loud in the clearing. For the moment, Deilakrion didn't move. She was stunned by the fall, and rightly so.

Damion was trying to sculpt the fire into different shapes. There was no use. At times, he would feel as if the fire was bending like hot iron, and then it would wiggle out of his mental grip with a whiplash that would sear his vision. This was dangerous. His lips curved in a nervous smile as he continued his hold on the flame.

The crash through the foliage made several things happen at the same time. First was a whispered oath from Damion as he stood up; and then the most curious thing happened. Instead of his hand leaping to his short-sword in his belt, it had curved around something else. Damion quickly looked to see a short-sword made out of pure fire throbbing in his hands. It felt like holding nothing - for there was no heat - nor was there a sensation of holding something. But the weapon was alive, spreading tongues out like a mythical monster.

As soon as he realised what he had absently done, the fire-sword went out of existence. Damion swore once more but didn't bother with conjuring it again. He knew it had been the moment. He withdrew his normal sword and turned towards the direction of the sound.

What had it been? Surely not a predator? Something worse? Try as he might, he couldn't make the flame leap again. Magic was not going to help him here. He took his whip in the other hand and cracked it in the air. Belal would have made some sound had it been an animal. He moved closer to the dark tree and cracked his whip at a random bush.

"Who's there?" he asked, his voice slightly wavering. "I am armed. Who is there? Show yourself!"

Language was not a particular strength for Deilakrion, especially in her half-stunned state. She was most often used to hearing things like screams, and a lot of cursing, and not a few death threats. The uneasiness in the unknown voice was interesting, but in a distant sort of way. She had to focus on breathing, and though she might have been interested in communicating with a stranger (though her style of communication usually led to more fighting), a misguided attempt to get up only let to a groan.

Her vision was still blurry. The sky was still mocking her. And topping everything else she had a very potential threat cast to her by the hunt. The now was not good.

The wilderness has no sympathy, and its only mercy lay in a quick death. Deilakrion knew that. She pushed herself up with one arm, and the other seemed tender. If it was to be her blood that fueled this hunt, so be it. She'd meet it with bared teeth and dagger unsheathed. Unfortunately, however, her body had other ideas. Enough! it told her in no uncertain terms, you're a lunatic if you think I'm moving!

She ignored it. Habit, hey, it could blame her later but she had more pressing issues at hand. So she managed to get up onto her knees, weight on the uninjured leg, and drew her dagger with a feckless smile. She was likely to topple over at any second, really.

"Fuhleshhh," she hissed out on a wave of dizziness. "Guh. . .good hunting." Her words were accented with disuse and her voice garbled with hunger and pain. She was ready to fight.

Damion stood motionless. The only sound that reached his ears was the subdued crackling of the fire behind him. He wished the fire had been inside.

He heard a distinct hiss coming from his right, and he quickly oriented himself towards the sound. The shadows of the twisted trees and the maze-like branches being thrown by the flickering fire danced - obscuring his vision. It was extremely difficult to make out any silhouette among the wavering patterns of darkness. There! Was that the shape of a human? It was hard to tell.

Damion squinted his eyes to make out, faintly, a figure amidst the bushes. Damion realised there was something wrong in the jerky motions of the black form. It was not human.

Damion avoided confrontation. The creature looked thin, and Damion had fought in several bar brawls where the space to swing the weapon has been extremely cramped. The overhanging branches should present no problem. But he hated approaching the unknown rashly.

He would have to use surprise. He would have to do the most improbable to shock the figure into submission. Or to make a mistake. Failing that, he hoped his thrust was strong enough. The figure seemed to waver and whisper something. Definitely not an animal. And definitely hurt - judging by the location, the sound he had heard earlier, and the way the figure wobbled. Luck was on his side.

With a sudden movement, Damion leaped at the figure, his sword pointed at the creature's torso.

Attacks. Oh, how used was she to attacks by fleshes? Too many times they had come after her, and too many times she had met the confrontation. She was getting tired of it.

Only the sound of the man's steps and a glint of light off of the blade kept her skin whole. Well, without any new holes. She threw herself to the side and felt displaced air rush over her ribcage. She fell upon her injured leg, and she cried out shamefully the pain of that landing. She whimpered, and ended it in a growl as rage built at this flesh who had presumed too much. Would they ever try to kill her? She'd reached better accord with the beasts, and even she knew them to be of less intelligence than the fleshes.

She was slow to recover from her violent move, and the most she could do was roll onto her back, dagger's point wandering upwards as she held it feebly out towards the dim shape, the dangerous shape. The very near to being hated shape. "Fuhlesh," she snarled, struggling to rise up. "Stupid fulesh." Her strength was waning dramatically.

Damion cursed as he landed on hard stone, scratching his elbows and knees in the process. He hadn't been quick to change the direction of his thrust. He braced for the return blow from the mysterious intruder and was surprised to hear a grunt.

Damion turned around and very nearly lost his balance. This close, he was able to make out the shape of the figure. Her skin was parched and she seemed to be naked. He had noticed the hint of breasts upon her torse and also the slight feminine tone in her harsh voice. She was truly detestable to look at - even in the dim light that filtered through the bushes from the clearing. Damion tightened his grip on the sword as he saw the gleaming daggers pointed at him.

What was she saying? Damion realised she was telling him something. A human tongue! He peered at her closely. Not a human, definitely. Could she be one of those filthy elves - those mindless beings trying to forever steal mankind's glory? No. She seemed different. So startling was her presence that Damion let his sword hand drop down slightly.

"What... I - uh - who are you?" asked Damion, his eyes and mind straining to anticipate her next move.

The point of her dagger -- the only thing she'd ever truly trusted -- wavered at Damion, but it did not drop. Nor did her hostile attitude. He would kill her, she was sure, or die trying. She couldn't fight him now, she realized, and in that knowledge she found a good enough reason to start the attempt to flee. She'd kill him later, maybe. If she escaped.

The words he aimed at her were a good distraction. That tactic had been used before. She remembered it! Damn fleshes and their clever ways, their words were the way to madness and destruction. It angered her that he thought she could be lulled into stupidity so easily. After a few uneasy seconds of staring at his blade (which was still pointed in her general direction, even if it had not been pushed into her skin and muscle), she managed to sit up and get her uninjured leg under her. She moved slowly, for she could not move quickly if she tried. Blood was still oozing slowly from the thigh, and its sharp scent invigorated her. The hunt had been blooded. Who would die?

She tried to stand and she found she couldn't. Still, he did not kill her. Was it some new form of playing with a kill? She did not believe in such sport. She even failed to crawl backwards. She was doomed to die. The sky above chuckled at her in its loud, low booms, and a flash momentarily lit the sky. She saw her attacker for a single second, and that was all it took for her gather her tattered strength and lunge under that blade, lunge to rip her dagger through his knee, to cripple him and make him bleed!!

She failed. Utterly. Her crumpled length lay under his blade, face pressed to the soil as she gasped for breath and muttered ancient words direly. Her ribs hurt. The arm she'd landed upon after her fall from the tree throbbed. She was at the end of her rope. Luck was all she had left. The dagger had fallen from her hand, and she closed her eyes. She would wait for death.

Damion's breath came in short gasps. He had been careless. Her lunge at him had made him motionless - and he had stood stock-still, not thinking about using the sword, not thinking about trying to use magic. He had expected his pathetic, dirty life to flash in front of his eyes - and all that he saw was the dark forest and the shimmering light.

The creature lay panting at his feet and Damion released the breath he hadn't realised he had held. Relief gave way to anger. At himself - for not being able to stop her right then and there. For not being able to bring the blade down to slay her. Damion tried to convince himself that she was not human. That she was a nocturnal creature of the dark forest - deserving nothing but a quick death. But her voice and her character haunted him. It was a she! A living thing! He had never killed before.

Well, there was always a first time for everything. As Damion raised his short-sword, he was aware of the fast beating of his heart. He was sweating and he also realised that he was exultant. The promise of impending death to the intruder seemed to pulse in him like a beacon.

He brought the sword arching down.

The hunt was her all, and Deilakrion's insistence upon following it meant that she could not bear to allow death to come without awareness of it in some form. She could accept death. The manner of it chafed at her mind, but it was not the first time such a thing had occurred. She could ignore it if she had to. She could. She turned her head to the side, so the mass of matted black hair fell away and into the dirt and vegetation. She craned her neck, it being one of the few parts of her body that didn't hurt overmuch, and looked to the furthermost right. She looked to Death, and all it held for her. The conscious-most bits of her were ready.

The rest of her was not. In the grey areas where chaos lurked ready within her mind and being, something animalistic and raw surged upwards. Her eyes glowed silver in the dark of the forest. Silver, and primal up at Damion and his impending sword -- defiant until the last.

The gleam of the sword caught Damion's eye - but that was not the reason why he stopped his movement. Another gleam had caught his eyes. And, as before, several things had happened.

Her eyes were glowing - like tiny full moons. There was a power in them - that seemed to curdle his blood. He felt something stir in the pit of his stomach - a craving for something he had never had. The yearning for something he didn't know he had lost. Like an ugly serpent rearing its head, the power surged through him.

Those eyes! She was not a normal creature. Damion slowly let his sword drop to the side as his eyes found hers. As soon as the connection was made, Damion realised that the power filled him too. He knew he could summon the fire sword if he wanted to. He wanted to laugh with wonder. He schooled his face in an impassive expression.

"Get up!" His voice still held the edge. He held out his hand to her, not caring that she could very well take it as another sham on his part. Another trick to kill her. He smiled at her forcefully.

"Get up. I am not going to hurt you. I will give you food."

He hoped his outstretched palm, his smile - however fake, and his tone would assuage her fear.

"I give you my word."

Deilakrion was full well ready to take his meatlike hesitance to grab up her dagger and show this crude flesh its business end. In fact, as soon as the sword was distracted from its course she had made the grab for it with her good arm, and when he reached down like he was going to touch her she started to bring it up to cut through the vein.

And then, he said "Food."

Well, he'd said a little more than food but that was all she'd really heard. In the majority of her life, that word had been spoken to her very rarely, but there was a promise behind it that was well known and within the bowels of her psyche it awoke within her a ravenous greed that was rarely experienced by the elf. The glow faded away, and she was unaware of it at all, but the sluggish beast within settled back into its hibernating state. She flinched back from the hand instead, still wary, and kept her dagger out as she slowly levered herself upwards into some semblance of capability.

"No touch." She snarled instead, spittle landing in droplets upon that offered hand. She glared at him, evaluating his position and body language. She didn't think he was lying, didn't know if he was playing tricks but where he could have killed her he had not. In the fleshy world, that meant that he had another use for her. Maybe he wanted her to kill something for him, since it was obvious he was lacking in that category.

"Weak flesh." She stated, simple as fact, and after a minute of careful and painfully slow movements wobbled before the man upon her knees. "Food." While this simple speech was taxing upon her jumbled thoughts and weakened body, she made the demand with the imperious nature of a queen.

Soon after she was standing upright (if rather unsteadily) and staring at him with the sharp mindlessness of a hungry beast.

Damion was surprised to find himself not raging at the creature. To begin with, she was clearly not human. Even in her nature, she was uncouth - fitting her appearance. Damion had little love for such beings. He considered them mistakes - burrs on a smooth surface. Blemishes on a painting. There was no gratitude in her. Nor was there an amiability - seeing as he had spared her life!

She seemed to have only one thing on her mind. Food. If that was how he was to win her confidence, so be it. He cautiously stepped towards his cart. Belal was standing stock-still - unsure as to whether to stomp in fear or watch this curious monstrosity to interact with her master. Damion was thankful he had bought the two chicken legs to cook for dinner. He was pretty sure this creature would be much more welcome to some meat.

He approached her again and threw the meat at her feet.

"Eat. It's what you want, isn't it? Fulesh, as you call it? Eat. I have more."

Strict observation often won her life in dire situations, and this might be one of them. She kept the dagger raised, though it wavered in her grip as her muscles protested. Deilakrion watched him closely. The food became obvious in its nature. Meat! Meat! The only thing that mattered in the now. A low rumble emanated from the elf's stomach as the meat was thrown before her, and the dagger was lowered as her attention focused more on the prospect of eating than paying undue attention to the man. She would kill him later. He was useful.

A response to him would be the polite thing, but she was not a polite creature. Only the noises of meat tearing and her gluttonous consumption of the chicken leg would answer his scorn. Soon she was gnawing on the bone, and then after a few hard cracks on it with her dagger's pommel she was sucking out the marrow. Once done she looked up at him, face and hands smeared with offal from the chicken leg. Saliva glimmered wetly over her chin, and she wiped her mouth with an equally dirty arm. It wasn't much of a pleasant sight.

Deilakrion licked her lips. "Food?"

Damion's eyes never left her as he watched her feeding frenzy with fascination. The meat had disappeared faster than a hunted rabbit. The marrow - she had sucked it through the bone like sucking water through a reed. He ought to be disgusted to see such a display of table manners and he was. But disgust soon gave way to curiosity.

Who was she? Her demeanor piqued his interest. She was so different from the soppy elves he had seen on the streets of Marn. And yet, there was a certain grace in her movement that he had seen only among elves. She was too uncouth to be an elf. Too inexplicable to be human. And too grotesque to be living.

"There is some more," he replied, but with less conviction that before. She was ravenous, and he was pretty sure she was going to clean out everything he had. But somehow, he didn't care. The whole setting felt surreal. He had just signed a pact with the devil. The costs often were too high.

"Tell me. Who are you?" He hoped his questions would now be slightly better received, seeing as he had dropped the second piece of chicken near her too. He also offered her some vegetables.