Unexpected Guest [Closed]

[Lanae Ofnowhere]

Unexpected Guest
Lanae did not know where she was going. Since the night this nightmarish existence began, she has been wandering without apparent direction. Like a boat cut adrift from its mooring, she drifted aimlessly and scarcely paid any mind to where she was going or where she might end up next. All she knew with any certainty was that she could not go back because it didn't exist anymore. Back there was nowhere.

Occasionally Lanae would "come to" with a blink. Her surroundings were never quite the same as she last recalled them and she would be aware that time had passed, but never precisely how much. It would occur to her that something was very wrong and she would be overcome with an intense drive to find someone or someplace, although who and where were yet more questions she didn't have the answers to. Then the hunger would stir like a titanic monstrosity rolling in its sleep, and the thoughts would break apart, along with any coherency.

Shortly after sunset, she had risen from her place of rest in a state of confusion. The hunger, ever-present, was briefly silenced by the disoriented jumble of her thoughts. How had she come to be underground? What had happened to her? Where had her family gone? No answers were forthcoming, and she staggered through the woods, scythe clutched almost fearfully in her pale hands.

Mist from a nearby bog purled through the woods, creeping between trees and through the underbrush on spidery white fingers. Lanae walked just ahead of it, bare feet skimming through damp foliage, the hem of her gown swirling about her ankles. Her dark hair hung in long, lank strands around her face, framing the perturbed frown she wore.

All around her the air became flat with an uneasy silence. Living things withdrew and quieted their activity in the hopes they would go unnoticed. Lanae didn't notice, or didn't seem to. Especially not when, in the distance, a glimmer of orange and red light snared her roving eye.

The low pulse of her hunger surged suddenly. All expression slipped from her face, leaving behind a blank ivory mask. At the same time, she pulled at the twisted, blackened thread that continued to bind her to the world; magic snapped, and between one step and the next, she was suddenly several feet ahead. Out of sight, the grass where she had been standing shriveled, blackened and died.

Lanae moved forward on soundless footsteps. Her eyes were as bright as moonbeams and fixed with intent upon the campsite that gradually emerged from between the trees. The scents of charred wood, hours-old grease from cooked meat, and man touched her nose. She opened her mouth and breathed deep, pulling the scent in over her tongue. The thump-thump of a heartbeat slowly came to her ears...

[Arthur Claymore]

The moon was not high in the sky, it being only a few hours past dusk when the light of the campfire drew the gaze of Lanae. The fire was covered so not much of its dull glow could be seen from beyond the camp but even still, no matter how much one covered the fire it was impossible to hide its light entirely. Little smoke rose from the flames as the young squire who had built it had made pains to hide its presence from would be bandits in the night. Even still, he was just about to extinguish the flame and make his bed for the night when he felt it. The dull presence of something that he couldn't quite name. He had been actively keeping his awareness attuned for the approach of danger and for a moment, he sensed the barest touch of something not unlike bloodlust. The desire to kill. It sent a thrill of anxious tension tingling up his spine. But it wasn't quite the same as what he knew as bloodlust it was more feral and primitive. Something like a beast though it wasn't typical to sense such a thing from a beast unless it was actively hunting its prey. And that sense seemed to be heading in his direction.

He slid his parrying dagger from its sheath at his hip and tucked its blade along the inside of his arm before settling to extinguish the flame. Once the flame was reduced to ash and embers, he settled into a spot at its side and curled into his bed roll. His eyes closed and he imitated the figure of sleep though he wasn't truly slumbering. His breathing was too even and measured to actually be mistaken for a sleeping man, though no beast would be able to tell that. His hand tightened around the hilt of his dagger as he laid there waiting for the creature to approach. He wouldn't give it a chance to attack, as soon as it appeared and was near enough, he would run it through.

[Lanae Ofnowhere]

The lad's prone position and his stillness might have fooled someone else into assuming he was unaware if not entirely asleep, but his heartbeat betrayed him. Lanae could hear the steady rhythm beating against the cage of his ribs from across the small clearing, not frightened but not at all restful. She wondered at that, momentarily intrigued by the idea that he should be calm even though he anticipated an unknown threat. Then his heart gave another thump and she stopped concerning herself with such trivialities.

Lanae raised her hand in the direction of the fire pit and the softly glittering embers within. The earth was slow to obey her will, moving sluggishly as if it had to be roused from sleep. There were barely perceptible tremors and a low, muted hiss of sifting dirt as the ground pulled the charred, smoldering wood into itself, effectively burying it. Now there was no light in the area save for the face of the waxing moon and her cloak of stars, and no fire either. At least none that she knew to be readily available.

Afterward, Lanae lowered her arm back to her side and paused. Her hunger scratched at the back of her mind, an uninvited guest yearning to be let in, but she could bide her time for a little bit longer. From the relative safety of the shadows, she watched and waited, curious to see what he would do -- if he would do anything at all. Would his breathing relax into the slow, even rhythm of sleep? Would she watch the tension bleed out of him? Or would he lay there and try to wait her out, too?

[Arthur Claymore]

Wait the young knightling would. Counting his breaths in a pattern immediately suspicious of the creature that had chosen not to explore his sleeping frame. His breath steady in rhythm and his ears stressed to listen. He knew not what beast lurked beyond his gaze though it were beasts he was in the forest to hunt. Though he often slept outside of Felsgard itself so that he might save on expenses. This particular night he was on the hunt of a great beasts of the kind his father would tell him stories. Perhaps one had wandered into his camp and was watching him. He heard tell that such beasts had an otherworldly intelligence that was all too human in nature. However, after a tick of several breathes he realized something was missing. Beast or man, calmed or hushed, in the stillness of the night he should have heard the steady rhythm of another breathing creature. And no such breath came, though he still sensed the not-quite-bloodlust of the creature nearby. A cursed one. That was what his father had called them. Creatures that were once alive but no longer and sustained themselves on the blood and flesh of the living. Pitiable spirits, his father would say, who should be shown the greatest of mercies and have their lives ended before they inflict their curse on another. Dangerous. He waited several ticks longer. His blade still at the ready as he focused his mind clearly on the thought of action. Prepare. A small part of his brain said. He was fast and agile, strong as well. Perhaps he could fend off the beast in a straight fight. But there was no need for such things. As soon as it was clear that the cursed one wasn't parting from him, he chose to take his action. A voice, calm and soft in the night, stirring nothing but the wind and his lips.

"You will find no meal here, cursed thing. But if you seek mercy, I shall grant it."

He remained prone, aware that it gave him a lack of leverage but knowing that it was unlikely the beast knew of his tucked blade. If it launched itself upon him, he was certain he could run it through swiftly and change the dynamic of the fight.

[Lanae Ofnowhere]

Lanae did not know if she was surprised to hear him speak or not. Clearly he had been aware of her presence from the beginning and may have even braced for an imminent strike. When none was forthcoming, perhaps he sought to draw her out with talk, assuming she was a sentient creature with intelligence rather than a mere beast. Truly, some night she did not know for certain herself.

All she did feel, all she was truly aware of, was the proverbial gnashing of her hunger's teeth and the slow, inexorable erosion of her control. Other details faded away, relegated to the back of her mind or simply replaced. Instead of damp earth, she detected the faintly sour scent of dried sweat, and the night sounds -- crickets and the faint shuffling of critters -- was superseded by the steady beat of the man's heart.

"I have no need of your mercy." Lanae's disembodied voice flew from the shadows and filled the small grove, a little guttural and full of venom.

The fog at her back finally caught up and began to seep around her, spilling through the underbrush to spread across the ground like a gossamer blanket. Lanae uprooted her feet at last and began to walk towards the right, slowly circling the perimeter of the clearing. Eventually she might make it around to where he was laying, if he didn't get up first. She was ready for him to do so, bright yellow eyes fastened on his back.

"You are very far away from your people," she said, deceptively soft. "You are so very alone."

[Arthur Claymore]

His grip tightened on the hilt of his parrying dagger, the small double edged blade concealed against his forearm and let out a soft sigh as he shifted. He didn't rise rather adjusted his position so that his other hand appeared to be reaching for the hilt of his sword. He figured she could see him in the night's dim lighting better than he could see her. The gesture meant to make it look as if he intended to pull the sword free and strike. He waited a tick of a breath before he would flick his thumb forward to loos the clasp of the hilt and reveal the small hint of a glimmer of steel. His words were as hard as that blade that he threatened to unsheathe though a false quaver was added to give the appearance of a fear that did not exist in him.

"Leave this place or forfeit this mockery of life that is your existence. I will offer you no further quarter if you trespass further against me. "

[Lanae Ofnowhere]

The tremor in his voice was a nice touch but Lanae wasn't fooled. His pulse might have quickened but he didn't smell like fear; he smelled like adrenaline, like hot blood, and hungry steel. She could have laughed. In fact, she did.

"Will you?" she asked, the notes of her dark laughter slowly fading out. After a pause she asked, "Do you suppose you can?"

Lanae paused several yards from where Arthur lay, his hand clasped around his blade. Lifting her hand along the haft of her scythe to clutch it closer to the curving blade, she raised the other hand, palm up. She called to the roots of the surrounding trees below the surface of the earth. They stirred at her command, creeping upward unseen but perhaps felt through minor vibrations.

Several roots broke through the ground around Arthur simultaneously. Like snakes they turned and coiled, forming a loose circle in which they attempt to fold over and trap him. Lanae moved towards the edge of the clearing, allowing herself to be just visible through the mist and the lines of blackening trees.

"I should like to see you try," she murmured, the corner of her mouth turned up in a lurid smile.

[Arthur Claymore]

He had been waiting for her to make a move sense he became aware of her presence and as she spoke her words and the roots moved to enshrine his body he was in motion. It was not the first time such a trick had been used on him and that parrying dagger slashes up and out to the left hand side severing roots as the rest of his body twists into a roll breaking through the opening formed by the quick slash. With the dagger in hand and gleaming in the moonlight, he tumbles up onto a knee in a low crouch from his roll. He doesn't rush forward and try to take the advantage, instead he remains in place for a breath. A hum of a heartbeat as he gathers that energy in his body, twisting it like a coiling serpent until it followed his desires, threading itself into his legs until the muscles surged with a power greater then their own. A kick against the ground sends Arthur's body rocketing forward like a canon shot straight at the form of Lanae. But a second kick, less pronounced and more subtle to the eye would make it appear as if Arthur had vanished as his body was sent shooting in a sudden shift of directions not forward but upward. Pulling his scabbard and sword free of where they were hooked at his belt side, he would twirl the blade in his fingers until it was held ready and with a flick of his thumb and a forward thrust he would release the blade from its scabbard by sending the scabbard shooting forward at the monstress's form. The scabbard, imbued with a token of his sword intent would become blade like in its flight so that should it strike her, it was stab into her form as readily as the now naked blade in his hand.