At the densest section of the forest, there is a brief clearing where a steady flow of water streams down the slippery stone staircase. The water here is cool and refreshing. Staircase Falls has been rumoured to be the place where reality is met by magic; where peaceful spirits dwell. They are rumoured to have healing powers that are used to help the desperately hurt, though no one has experienced this, except for, perhaps, Kaive.
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Posted on October 7, 2012 at 04:22:54 AM by KERSHOV
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“You may not realize it now, good sir, but you have done me a tremendous service.” Kershov spoke with a light amiable tone that best fit a conversation between two close acquaintances, his brow furrowed and his grin tipped in happy, puzzled realization. His imperial skull tilted in a good-natured way, as if he were about to start shaking it in sheepish confession of his own ignorance. He even barked out a half-embarrassed chuckle, the sound oddly silvery and clear despite the darkness that cloaked it. This revelation had leapt at him unexpectedly, yet fortuitously. A great gleaming beam of satisfaction glinted flint-like in the depths of the frost-dragon’s obsidian stare as he peered down at the gentleman. “I almost want to thank you,” Ker continued glibly, words still flowing cool and friendly in sharp-edged snowflakes from his tongue into the air. “Almost . . . but not quite.” The other male would have pled for his life, except his shredded throat was currently being smashed by one enormous, talon-wielding paw. Kershov curved his claws casually into the lacerated flesh strung beneath his toes and watched with deceptive affability as his foe began to gurgle and wheeze, lurid foam oozing viscously out the corners of his agony-stretched maw and blood dribbling in slimy fingers down his lolling tongue. Pathetic. The wolf resembled bruised meat more than he resembled a varg: the tattered mess of his neck was damp and drenched with rivering tides of his own life, skin held together by mere strings and a few prayers, the rest a horrendous exhibition of tendons, muscle, and threaded veins; his legs looked no better, just splintered stilts that twisted in meager defense against Kershov’s assault, doing nothing to protect the brute’s pummeled guts. The ivory warrior had especially enjoyed himself while decorating his victim’s face—or half of it, at least. The cur’s left eye had busted like a popped tomato with a precise jab from one of Kershov’s elegant fangs, spilling all sorts of delightful fluids over his ripped cheekbone and the mangled swelling of his muzzle. “You see, I do not make a habit of thanking piles of shit.” Ker’s talons tipped from almost demure prodding to full-on gouging, burying themselves deep into the dog’s trachea. The King sighed, as if in honest apology to the torture he inflicted. “I am appreciative of this outcome, of course. I daresay I might never have reached it if you had not happily interrupted my path. You most likely do not need my second opinion, my dear gentleman, but I do believe you’ll die of these wounds without a gifted healer. A dreadful shame for you, I’m afraid—though you simply must concede that this was partly your fault. I would never have been moved to misuse you so if I had not caught you taking advantage of that femme, hmm?” The beaten rogue began to shiver violently. Kershov narrowed his eyes and tried to determine whether or not the shuddering was born of terror or severe loss of blood. Or both. He thumped his victim on the chest one last time—a friend affectionately saying goodbye to a neighbor—and stepped back to find his original route. He did not bother finishing the kill. After witnessing what heinous, vile cruelty the dying varg was capable of, Kershov refused to grant the mercy of swift death. For all the pretense of his façade, the tundra-stalking demon had gladly learned something from his latest opponent. Abendrot—his pride, his life, his kingdom, his pack—was lacking. Dangerously so. Kershov could have bitten himself for his own ambitious stupidity, except he had better things to use his fatal teeth for. Military wise, Abendrot had it all: soldiers to fight with passion and glory, assassins to quietly administer justice, and spies to lend the pack an all-seeing Eye and an all-knowing Ear. But what the pack’s latest drama had pointed out was that, for all its savage ferocity in battle, Abendrot had no healing faction. There were none to fix the wounded or council the emotionally distraught. Kershov had never entertained the thought that his warriors were soft and in need of help . . . yet the reality remained that his fighters were mortal. They could be wounded. They could die. And replacements would never be fast or efficient enough. This day, just before the sun had even reached its first rosy halos over the horizon, Kershov had set out from his territory in search of a Healer. He only needed one, for the time being: with time, more would come, either abducted for the good of Abendrot or drawn to the promise of helping others. It would be best if the Healer were female; Ker hadn’t asked any of his wolves to accompany him on this journey, adamant that all remain within the borders to protect the land and each other, and it would be easier to escort a more delicate female to Abendrot than a burly, aggressive male. Besides, though not always the case—as cunning faes like Mamba and Enigma proved—females were generally more trustworthy. The musical song of running water drew Kershov’s attention. After leaving the cloistered forest’s shadow to discover a cathedral tier of waterfalls and shallow pools, the colossal ghost immersed himself in water, reveling in the sudden brisk blanket of fresh cold and washing the gore from his pelt. He closed his death-dark eyes for a moment, allowing his calculating mind to wander . . . A thought he’d been trying to avoid all night crept unassumingly into his brain. More than a Healer, Abendrot desperately needed something—someone—else: a queen. | |
Replies:
- HOW COULD YOU BE SO NAIVE; donee - By sil. October 11, 2012 at 03:49:47 AM
FROZEN MASS GRAVE - By KERSHOV October 19, 2012 at 01:59:06 AM
HOW COULD YOU BE SO NAIVE - By sil. October 19, 2012 at 07:18:31 AM
FROZEN MASS GRAVE - By KERSHOV October 23, 2012 at 06:18:02 PM
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