Legend of Ransera

Posted: **Mon Jul 06, 2020 2:44 pm**

Eikaeus - 62nd Searing, 120th of Steel

To refer to the pathway ahead as solid would be to insult every other highway upon which Althalos had thus traveled. The roadway several days past had been carefully paved over, every stone meticulously laid into its place by laborers who must've toiled many weeks in their pursuit of equilibrium. One side of the cobblestone had not outstretched further than any other side, and the balance of the horse and its rider had not been so precariously hung upon their slightest movements. Of course, that was to be expected when one was leaving the capital of a civilization, whether it was prosperous or focused primarily upon impropriety and decadence -- it was simply easier to dedicate resources to the construction of roads than it was to force armies and traders to travel through wilderness paths.

The painter had rented a steed for his journey several nights ago and had managed to travel alongside others for a majority of the trip. Of course, they had managed to slowly and steadily drift ahead of him, eventually managing to slip out of view entirely. It hadn't mattered that he hadn't stayed immediately next to them at their campground when darkness had fallen. The general proximity to other mortals and the fires they lit had seemingly been enough to ward off danger, and while he had introduced himself to them to assure them of his non-threatening position, the two groups had remained primarily independent of one another.

Now, on the last leg of his trek, he found himself entirely alone. Independence as he had desired it had made a mockery of him, abandoning him to whatever fate might befall him in the woodwork. Althalos had watched carefully as distant sounds would play out in the wilds. There had been bellows somewhere far off and howls in the dusk, and with every mile, there would be something or another that would scatter into the undergrowth at the approach of the horse.

That had been entirely uncomfortable as well. The corpse had probably ridden a horse in his past existence, but if he had, none of the muscle memory had been retained in the husk of his body. The constant bumping and shifting of the meat beneath him were enough to irritate, and to oppress any attempts at creative thought in the absence of company. He desperately wished to alleviate the consistent shaking of the beast, but to do so would require walking it along the path, and if danger presented itself, he would need time to re-mount and flee quickly enough for it to matter.

His adamant refusal to travel directly with the caravan would quickly make clear his ineptitude. Precocious desires at independence very quickly demonstrated the consequences of his actions. While he had been peering off into the foliage, the horse trotted forward, directly past a thin strand that lay suspended above its head and therefore out of its care. Forward went the steed, but the strand caught upon the noble coat of the corpse, holding tight, not breaking even when his weight attempted to snap it in twain and keep up with the burdened beast's own movements. There was a frantic movement as the realization that something was touching him was made, and he snatched at the strand to dispel it only for it to promptly force him off the back of the thing.

Were it not for his groping at it, there was a serious possibility that he would've broken something with such a forceful dismount. He pursed his lips, trying to force a whistle through, but to no avail. Another skill that would need to be rectified in the future, he grumbled as he shouted a particular lurid curse at the beast, causing it to pause in its trot and turn to stare at the moronic weight it had been forced to bear.

"No sudden movements." The voice came from -- somewhere, and spoke fluent Common. There was none of the uneducated imbecility that he had noticed when he had been robbed at his shop in this voice, but where there he had heard savagery, now he heard determination. Not merely a squalid thug, but someone whose predilection towards brutishness had been matched with unforeseen cunning, blending into abhorrent schemes of ravenous gluttony and lustful materialism.

Althalos slowly, carefully raised his hands into the air. His eyes frantic as he attempted to locate the source of the danger.

Posted: **Tue Jul 07, 2020 1:20 am**

Ricky had entered the barracks after a long and tedious shift, his patrols practically finished for the day, when he walked towards the office area to report to guard captain. When reached the doorway the grizzled old man appeared to be busy with paperwork, with a stern if not grim look on his weathered face.

"Captain Malkea," He addressed formerly with his heavily accented Kokalath, "Rickter Maze reportin' back from patrol." The older man looked up from his papers, as the candlelight made his eyes appear glistening from where he sat.

"Anything to report Maze?" The gruff captain inquired as he leaned back into his chair, the wood of the seat groaning after his shift back.

"South road's been clear, local wildlife didn't seem to bother anybody." Ricky responded bluntly in a firm expression, still standing upright as he waited to hear what his captain had to say.

"Hm. Very good. Lemme ask you somethin' Maze, you're a Rathari correct? What's kind of animal again?" Captain Malkea brought a hand close to his chin, to stroke at the white whiskers of his chin hair, while he eyed the half-breed thoughtfully.

"Half sir, I'm half wolf." He answered in turn with a bit of confusion in his eyes, unsure about what this had to do with anything.

"You good at trackin'?" The captain checked as he leaned forward, almost with a newfound glint in his eye. "We actually received an assessment from some concerned visitors. Apparently there's a rogue highwayman lingering on the outskirts of Loras, somewhere down along the east road." And just like that Ricky's uncertainty became an utter disappointment.

He was ready to go home now, to see his boy after a long day of work. Now he was being asked to hound some asshole on the road down? "Now, now I know you've got a kid waitin' for you at home! But this is a good opportunity, and you'd be doin' Loras a solid if you went out to find this man."

"Does he need to be brought back?" Ricky asked since the captain clearly could tell he wanted to leave, Malkea raised his eyebrows at the question before leaning back once more, his legs brought up so that his heels would rest atop the desk.

"So far as I'm concerned, whatever animal attacks him is simply the Old One's way o' karma. But the visitors in town would appreciate if someone brought their belongings back."

Ricky looked from the captain towards the candle on the desk, with a considerably heavy look of consideration being weighed. If he did this he'd have at least two hours, before darkness fell and he'd be wandering in the night. Still, that was enough to time to sleuth the bastard out and be back home in time for hopefully a delicious dinner. "Send a letter to my house if you would, I'll be back hopefully before sundown." He assured the Captain as he turned to move out of the office, with his head lowered to avoid bumping the doorway.

"We'll make sure Hannah gets it." The Captain responded in turn as Ricky started to walk out. "Good huntin' out there." The wolf quietly left the office to move further within the barracks, approaching a long table so that he could begin undoing his straps on his armor. First to be removed was the gauntlets, as the chainmail coils made clinking noises before being dropped onto the table.

Next was the pauldrons over his shoulders, as he unfastened the straps out from under each armpit. This process continued while a couple of the other guards on break noticed him, completely dumbfounded by the fact one of their fellow comrades was on the verge of stripping. "You two, take a walk." Captain Malkea ordered them as he stood in the doorway, a glance shot to Ricky as the others did what they were told. "I'd better get that note started."

And just like that the captain closed the door to his office, leaving Ricky alone in the barracks in nothing but his chainmail greaves. Now that he didn't have anybody to watch him, however, the wolf promptly unfastened the buckles at his waist; pushing them down so that they'd slide at his ankles onto the floor. Sweet air caressed his skin now that he stood with no clothes on, and for a moment Ricky just stood there to breathe as he appreciated the sensation. It'd be short-lived.... very soon.

Within a moment of rolling his head back, Ricky's focus heightened on the shift of his form, so that he could transition into the animal he was. In the breath of a moment Ricky's face grimaced, as he couldn't help but cringe forward while the first step took place. A wicked snap echoed within the room as he groaned a little, his breathing paced now as the rest of the transformation escalated from there.

Cracks were heard throughout his entire bone structure, as his muscles spasmed and heavily contracted where he stood. Ricky found himself unable to stand straight, let alone almost not at all anymore, as he fell forward to land on his hands and knees. Hair started to grow at an incredibly accelerated rate, as his entire human form molded into the figure of a four-legged mammal, with sharp claws and dark blue eyes opened to the room once more.

Where Ricky once was now stood a massive wolf, with a beautiful black coat of fur, as he panted a few soft growls before the tension in his form went away. He had always disliked having to go through that, but every time he ever turned into a wolf it was always fun. Just as he thought this might be. Captain Malkea seemed to have opened the office door a crack, as his head poked out to make sure his new favorite guard was okay.

Ricky merely looked to him to recognize the fascinated awe the man possessed, before taking off out towards the doorway, and out the barracks towards the eastern gates of the town. A few people saw him as he ran of course, quickly darting to the side when they were in the middle of the street. Ricky didn't slow down the stride he currently had, however, as he ran at somewhat of a gallop before hitting the gates.

It was when he reached them he tucked his head in low, putting more push into his legs so that he could accelerate his speed. The wolf continued to run as fast as he could, keeping to the side of the road as he started to run past farmlands. Before too long he'd start to sniff the ground to try and pick up a trail or two...

But first, he had to get there before he could start poking his nose around.

Thought

Posted: **Wed Jul 08, 2020 9:36 am**

There was a stir in the foliage, stronger than a mere gust of wind as the highwayman made his move. Althalos could do little more than stand and wait as the fellow burst free from his hiding place in the undergrowth, neatly wiping away a few strands of vegetation which had clung onto his outfit. The outfit itself was something to observe. Upon his chest, there was a thick and padded leather coat which someone had pierced over dozens of times with jutting bits of iron or steel. At his waist, a heavy-looking belt offered some meager protection to his abdomen, and while his trousers appeared to be made of simple cotton or linen, there were scratched and marred knee-pads and greaves upon each leg.

Conflict had etched its mark on the gentleman, marring his features with scars, each one crossing uncomfortably across his face or neck or hands. There, clasped in his hand was a spear which he now used as a simple walking stick, perhaps unperturbed or unworried about the presence of the painter. Althalos felt confident that the human man before him was someone well-accustomed to his activities. While his own body was throbbing with nervous anxiety, the bandit seemed cool and collected.

In truth, Althalos felt entirely helpless here. He wasn't a warrior by any means, and yet this was the second time in a season that he had been robbed. What was it about his appearance that so readily drew such flippant and verminous scum to him? Did they simply recognize the absence of strength in his form? Did their wolfish predations allow them to somehow pick up on the debilitating wilting that constantly wore away at his physicality, or was it truly all just a matter of being in the wrong places at the wrong times? He didn't think for an instant that he could overpower the bulky bandit -- he was tall and thick like a tree from a lifetime of raiding and combat.

"Anything valuable on that horse?" He asked, jabbing the shaft of his weapon towards the beast of burden, probably drawn to the presence of baggage upon its back. Althalos shook his head quickly, keeping his arms raised well above his head and trying to keep a distance of at least a few feet from the outlaw for fear that he might suddenly and inexplicably run him through with the tool. "Just clothes and some camping gear." He admitted, eliciting a grumble from the predator.

"Scrawny elf clothes couldn't warm my dog." He spat, grumbling as he went towards the horse, patting its flank for a moment to prevent it from running off with any potential plunder as he went about the process of unstrapping and hurtling the luggage to the mud below. There were splatters of earth as the bags made contact, some of them unturned completely, spilling their innards onto the pathway. There was reckless disregard in his movements, and Althalos wondered if he truly believed there was nothing of value inside, and was merely going through the process of double-checking and ruining his things in the process.

Finally, the snarling brigand found his chosen plunder, yanking free a coin bag full of farthing. In truth, Althalos knew it was only a couple hundred of the little pieces, but he had packed light and would need the coin if he was going to stay in Loras for anytime at all. He had purchases to make, and beyond that, he would need to rent a room and -- He snapped back to the reality that he was being robbed, and that he would be lucky to escape with his life, let alone his monetary assets.

"Piles and piles of garbage for a handful of farthings." The pillager said, turning his attention back to Althalos, holding the coin pouch like a taunt in his hand. "You Atinawans are supposed to be tough, ain'tcha? Come on, don't you want your money back?" A cruel smile began to appear on the brigand's features as he jeered, stepping closer and closer to the painter until he was within striking range. With a twist of his wrist, he brought the hilt of his spear up, jabbing at the painter's gut and causing him to wince. He knew he wasn't being hit full-force, but it was still enough to sting with each strike. "What's wrong? Not gonna say anything? All tough until someone actually stands up against you, huh?"

There was a stir in the foliage. It was not the wind.

Posted: **Wed Jul 08, 2020 1:50 pm**

He pushed a little further as the muscles of his upper limbs quivered, the force of running a challenge exerted upon them while covered more distance. Eventually however he slowed his run to yet another gallop, tongue already hanging out as he panted heavily from all the exercise.

Ricky covered quite a bit of distance from way back at the town, possibly almost a mile out from Loras now, which seemed like the perfect time to begin sniffing. So Ricky slowed to a sluggish pace now, with his nose pointed at the ground first, sleuthing at the mud and stone he trekked over as he continually moved forward. He started to walk over boot prints in the mud, as they were likely from earlier today, with a few sniffs made over them as he kept moving forward.

Traces of leather were noticeable here, and the closer he got to a spot, the more reminiscent they were. He stopped entirely at a point on the road, where hoof prints and boot prints alike still remained. There were several of them, with their patterns indicating that the three who traveled were approached by a fourth. That had to be their guy... or rather his guy since it was Ricky doing the tracking. The wolf elevated his head to look further back down the road, as the scent which belonged to the extra set of footprints lingered elsewhere.

The wolf wandered toward the thicket of undergrowth at the path's side, his nose virtually pulling him as he sifted through the grass to follow it. He was off the path and waded his way along towards a tree, where another sour scent could be traced along it's base and roots.

That bastard was here alright... He noted as the scent of leather, and even residual odor, lingered in a stronger manner the further east he moved. He was tailing it back to the path once more, suggesting that he was likely waiting for another victim by the road... if he hadn't found one already. The wolf made a brief sneeze as he continued walking along, his blue eyes eagerly searching through thickets of weeds as he pressed onward. He could hear something now... a distant voice he was closing in on, with traces of three scents detected upwind from where he was. Was he too late?

Shit... He didn't want to wait much longer, but he also didn't want to rush in unprepared either. Thus he elevated his muzzle to the air, sniffing at the breeze as he tried to discern the smells. There was... a farm animal of some kind? Horses typically smelled something akin to that nature, which was how Ricky usually determined them apart from the rest. There was just that hint of mammal he could trace, to back the suggested thought, as the other two were a bit more different. Leather was one of the prominent scents traced in the air now, and that made him guess it was more than likely his lurking man. Pestering... whatever on Ransera that third scent was!

It was certainly foul and odorous to him, making his nose itch as he the lines of his brow furrowed. Thus the wolf ventured forward to investigate, mindful of the grass as he gradually grew closer and closer to them. Ricky slowed his advance once more, carefully lifting a paw each time, and then placing it lightly in the next spot of grass he stepped in. Now he saw them. The road they stood on spanned from left to right in his vision, with the horse further along to Loras than the other two evidently.

The highwayman was quickly noticeable for the fact he wore all that leather, and for the fact, he was already beating down the other man with his weapon. A spear... great... So not only was this thug cunning but also armed, though that didn't so much surprise Ricky, granted they were literally lurking around in the wilds. What he needed was a plan, and quickly, for he didn't suspect the other traveler to last very long. Not if he failed to find it in himself to fight back... Y' really just gonna take that?! The wolf didn't help but wonder as he practically embraced the ground floor with his paws, planting them firmly into the ground as he hunkered down low in the undergrowth.

A leather coat wouldn't be easy for him to tear through, and from the looks of it his lower legs were protected by greeves as well. Fuck! If he wanted to do this he'd have to be quick and efficient, maintain the element of surprise right up to his moment of assault. Could he run upon the man and overwhelm him? It wasn't entirely impossible but with that spear, there was a good chance the wolf wouldn't get close to him. If his back remained turned, however... yet creeping around would spook the horse if he did. Fuck fuck fuck!! Ricky was getting irritated now, nearly edgy as he licked his chops for a moment. Fuck the horse. If he scared it then he scared it right?

The wolf didn't need to jump in for the kill necessarily, as much as he would've loved to end this right away. No. If he could get the highwayman to lose his spear, then that would be everything he needed to end this. Thus with the lift of his left paw, he braced himself, ready to charge in as he watched the highwayman strike the traveler once more. That was the moment. The key moment where he'd be caught off guard, where his spear was lowered and likely the easiest to disarm. And so with the lift of his other front paw, Ricky pushed forward into a hop that immediately led into another dash.

The wolf rushed through the undergrowth without further delaying, in a mad rush to charge right for the highwayman where he stood. There was a moment where the horse stirred, likely being the first to notice the presence of another. Now that it reacted skittishly, Ricky knew there was no going back from this point on, and so he ran into a pounce he made to leap at the man, a snarl suddenly made as he closes in on him with fangs bare for a shoulder or neck.

Thought

Posted: **Mon Jul 13, 2020 9:09 am**

☿

The sudden fright of the horse was enough to draw Althalos eyes from the highwayman. Had the steed suddenly been attacked by a wild animal while he had been distracted? Had the spearhead of the weapon somehow managed to pierce its hide during the bullying of the pale elf? Frantic eyes watched his only chance of escape, scanning its body for any signs of injury or assault, but he saw none. All he noticed was the best trampling its hooves against the ground, pounding dirt as he whinnied and shook and looked at --

A gust of wind smacked against his cheeks, indicative of exceptional force being used in close proximity. The outlaw, his hand having been outstretched to deliver another blow had simply vanished. There was the flash of movement on the periphery, and Althalos slowly turned, his mind trying to make sense of the fiasco. There lay the bandit, struggling and twisting, his legs lashing out wildly, his spear somewhere on the ground, barely in reach, but difficult to grasp for whatever reason or another.

He'd been saved, he recognized, scouring the scene for his rescuer only to see tufts of fur and vicious claws tipping inhuman paws. A beast? A predator? Had he truly been rescued from the situation, or was he simply the after-course to the meal presented by the outlaw? Althalos felt himself back away, his anxiety rising substantially now that he was dealing with the potential to be devoured. Every creature that he had eaten since he had awoken a few weeks in the past suddenly came to mind, their entrails spilling down his chin as he gnawed away at their still-living flesh, suckling down meat and aether in every bite.

Recompense was owed to the animal world, it seemed, and now it would be extracted from him in bloody fashion. There was no doubt in the painter's mind that the beast would dispatch with the highwayman in a few short moments, and then it would turn to him and eviscerate him, and turn him into another dreadfully gory story to tell to passerby. What would they tell his house-mates? Would they say that he wandered into the woods with foolish recklessness and ill-prepared provisions and had fallen to some manner of atrocity in the hiding places of the brush? There was no heartbeat to hear in his ears, but his nervousness manifested itself in a spastic shudder of his hands, clenching and unclenching as he tried to work out a solution to his predicament.

The whinny of the horse brought him back to reality, and he recognized his avenue for escape and retaliation. The beast before him had been strong enough to drag off the highwayman, but even if it were a predator, it was probably ill-accustomed to the trample of a horse's hooves. If he could mount the riding beast, and direct it towards the beast, then perhaps its instincts and desperation would flair. He watched the rising and falling flanks of the equine, noting the muscles built into its flesh, the way that it had stomped and shaken at the introduction of the creature.

"Shh... shh. It's alright." He whispered to it, running a comforting hand along its side and staying clear of its back-legs lest he receive a full-blown kick to his own chest. Carefully, he hoisted himself atop of the beast, satisfied in the fact that he had learned that particular skill over several days straight of riding. It had been an issue climbing on at first, but in this moment of survival, it felt almost second-nature to haul his entire weight overtop the burdened creature's back. Taking hold of the reins now, he directed the horse towards the wolfish hunter, allowing it to watch its enemy, but refusing to allow it to flee -- there was still money in the possession of the outlaw, and he didn't doubt that the animal would manage to outrun he and his horse.

"Shoo! Scram!" He shouted at the beast, hoping that it would finish with the highwayman and then retreat with its meal.

Credit to Saej!

Posted: **Mon Jul 13, 2020 6:44 pm**

Everything that took place the moment of his leap happened far too quickly, and with the escalation of panic imminent from all parties, Ricky started to grasp at the fact his window of opportunity closed just a fast. While his entire body assailed the highwayman from an angle behind, the wolf quickly went into a tumble with the man as they both fell to the ground at once. Yet it was when the wolf moved to brace for a returned assault, his blue eyes noticed right away the lack of a weapon in the thug's possession. His spear had been dropped it seems, and rolled away just enough to pose no threat for the wolf, least not while he still had the element of surprise at his disposal.

Thus taking full advantage of it he moved in for the kill, the grounded bandit quick to turn over onto his back so that he could attempt to kick and crawl away. Yet it did him no good, as the oversized wolf loomed over the man even now, his fangs bare as he pressed his forepaws firmly into the chest cavity, pinning the highwayman down as he craned his head in low. A moment later his muzzle opened as wide as his jaw permitted, only to snap into the hardest bite that Ricky could make at the man. Immediately the highwayman screamed as high and loud as his lungs permitted, his arms and legs flailing desperately before the wolf's teeth finally sank into his very flesh.

The bitter taste of iron soon started to gush all over his tongue, as he started to tear at the man's throat in a fashion involving throwing his head left to right. Now the terrorized screams were beginning to garble, as the thug beneath him reached and desperately clasped at Ricky's head and neck. Even still it had done the man no good, for now, he had no means of surviving this encounter any longer. Already his hands meagerly pushed and tugged, with barely any force to yank the wolf away from his focused target. More and more blood splattered into his mouth as Ricky tore at him, the pace of his growls brief and spiteful as the thug's strength gradually waned. Coughs ensued as blood pooled from within his mouth, causing him to drown in his own blood as Ricky finally eased off of him.

Limbs fell to the ground as the highwayman looked up to him, his eyes still plagued with terror as what little life was left faded away. Seeing it take place brought back memories within Ricky, memories of the Frost season that he didn't wish to recall. Thus the wolf looked a little somber for a moment, before realizing that the other man had gotten on his horse... with the spear in hand and even idle demands. The kind one might make to a wild animal of course, and granted Ricky held the appearance of a wolf, it was no surprise that this man reacted in such a way. That poor horse, however... All riled up by the excitement that had taken place, all because Ricky showed up tracking down a local bandit.

Still, he had a job to do and, arguably, this man was likely bound for Loras as well. So that also meant he was, in essence, under Ricky's own protection as of now. Thus while the wolf merely stared with pants emitted from his bloodied muzzle, a quick look at the cloak around the shoulders of the body beneath him followed after. Fuck it. What's the worse this man could do if he was getting bullied by a highwayman. Thus lowering his head with his eyes shut tight, Ricky focused on reverting back into his human form, taking a deep breath before he felt the transition begin once more. Low annoyed growls were made initially as his muscular form started to spasm, with a series of snaps being made along his spine as his form started to shift.

Slowly the fine hairs of his fur began to recede towards his skin, as his limbs made cracking sounds during the readjustment of his bone structure. The growls he made receded in turn, as they were soon replaced with drawn-out grunts throughout the final stage of his transition. What once was a beast before the stranger was now a man, riddled with hair all over his body, as he still stood in the fashion that a wolf did earlier. The guardsman didn't wait to reach for the knot of the cloak then, unraveling it so he could slip the bloodied cloth off from the dead thug's neck. As he slowly rose Ricky pulled the cloak upward, to yank it out from underneath the shoulders of the body, before the material finally came free to dangle in the air.

"Has anyone told y' it's rude t' shoo away yer savior?" The wolf simply teased with a firm, almost grim, look down at the body beneath him. Ricky took the cloak by one end and ran his hand along the material until he found the other corner he sought, and began to wrap it around his waistline to cover the areas between his waist and lower thighs. Tying yet another knot over the right side of his waist, he looked back towards the sun as it looked relatively lower than before, much of its shape still visible over the peaks of the neighboring mountains.

That meant they still had somewhat of an hour left before night truly fell, and hopefully nothing to delay them when they both moved to Alfsos. But first... "Are y' hurt?" The wolf checked when he looked back to the white-haired man, with an eyebrow slightly elevated as he waited to hear an answer.

"Speech"

Posted: **Tue Jul 14, 2020 10:26 am**

☿

The nature of the wolf's assault meant that Althalos was shielded from the gory display by the undergrowth and foliage, but it was easy enough to understand what was happening with the verbal shrieks of agony and fear. He'd never heard anything like the gurgle in the fellow's throat before, even when he'd bitten down on the verminous critters he ate for his meals. It was utterly repulsive, abhorrent in the greatest sense of the word, and he felt the inclination to plug his ears. Alleviation came shortly afterward with the stilling of the bandit's legs, and the gentle death rattle that poured from his mouth, the sound unnatural and unbecoming of the living.

Suddenly, the beast seemed to conclude with its ravaging and turned to look upon Althalos, perhaps drawn to him by his loud demands or the threat that he posed from atop the steed. He hoped that the added height and weight of the pair coupled with the shouts and challenging stamps of the horse would be enough to send the predator running back into the deeper woods. Certain creatures would only intensify their predation when presented with such blatant challenges, however, and Althalos knew that he was taking a risk with his present course of action, but what else was he meant to do? Flight would only lead to certain doom at the maw of the atrocious thing, and he knew little about fighting.

An uncomfortable silence passed between the two parties as the wolf seemed to bow its head. Was it a symbol of submission like it was in the world of mortals, or was the thing merely coughing up a chunk of flesh which had gone down its throat incorrectly? Complacence with the situation would be a death knell for the Siltori, and so he watched with increased anxiety as the thing began to growl and twist, apparently completing some process of digestion... or metamorphosis.

Fur receded into flesh, vanishing into only hairs like one might find upon a man's body, and the snap of dislocated bones was audible even from the distance between them. It was a sickening crunch and grind, but there had already been an intoxicating revulsion associated with the blood-gurgling from earlier, and even with the intensity of the change before him, he felt that he had already witnessed the worst. Drunk with the memory of the rasping plea of the bandit meant that the addition of this transformation did little to wound his already panicked psyche.

Where once there had been a predator of the woods, now stood a man. He seemed human, but the occurrence hinted at the possibility of elements beyond humanity. While Althalos was aware of the prevalence of Rathari in the area, he had never seen one transform between its forms before and had assumed they were permanent facets of their physicality. There had been talk of powerful mages capable of taking on the characteristics of wild animals, especially in the taverns and inns and public places where the Siltori often frequented. This was either an abomination of nature capable of becoming similar to what it had consumed or else one of those arcane masters. Either way, the situation remained the same -- the danger had only intensified.

Perhaps it was the intonation of the man's voice which shook him from his paranoid delusions. Pusillanimous as he was, the event had impressed upon him the danger of the highway and of lonesome travel, and while peculiar to him that a wolf should now speak the words of men, the sound of a human voice at all was enough to ease him. The transformation and the events preceding it were traumatic, though, and though he felt less anxiety, and the tremors which wrought their way through his hands ceased, he was still possessed by stultifying uncertainty about the nature of the scenario around him.

"Sorry." He forced out, having nearly forgotten to breathe enough to even utter the word, letting it come out as a short and brief rasp. Was the wolf-man truly his savior? Had he taken on the role all the same as the knight who had rescued him inside of Alfsos from the depredations of robbers? The next words out of the fellow were an interrogative as to his state, specifically about whether he had been injured during the brief duration of the conflict. Althalos shook his head, mouthing a denial as his eyes peered over the bandit's form to the best of his limited ability.

"He set a trap. Think he just wanted my money... he didn't hit very hard." That had been true, though there was no reason to believe his taunting blows wouldn't have given way to more severe afflictions. "I had handed him the money. He probably still has it on him." Which meant he needed to retrieve it from the corpse. Dismounting from the steed, he approached gingerly towards the bandit, looking towards him with greater inspection. The gashes born into his neck were innately violent, and the crimson coloration which had stained along his clothing made the wounds appear like the head of a fountain, spewing its grim ichor until it had completely drained itself.

There was no life in the body now, and with the absence of life, there was little appetite stirred in the stomach of the corpse at the appearance. In fact, he didn't even want to look at it, he realized, turning his head back towards the pack beast and the wolf-man. "I'm a painter... I don't know if I have the stomach to -- search him." He concluded with an unspoken request. "Thank you. I was on my way to Loras... I suppose I should've gone with others, but -- it was a foolish decision to go alone."

Credit to Saej!

Posted: **Wed Jul 15, 2020 4:41 pm**

Ricky watched intently with a firm expression still present to the man, curious as to how he combated the prevalent fears still shaking in his hands. The wolf had noted that they were noticeably gaining stillness, indicating that the traveler was slowly coming to terms with what had taken place.

Were Ricky in his shoes he likely would've been doing the same, hell even now he still felt the beating instrument in his chest pound absurdly, as the adrenaline had only just begin to wear off now that he'd slowed down. Yet when he raised a finger up to his lips to rub across the lower half, a smudge of blood coated the surface of his fingertip, which told him he still had red staining his face... likely his teeth too if that was anything to consider.

The wolf rather self consciously brushed his forearm over the area a few times, his brows creased into a furrow as he listened to the man speak. There was the apology on his behalf, to which Ricky briefly gestured a hinted shrug with his head before the man finally went into how exactly he had gotten into this mess. A trap huh? The damn bastard looked to be clever enough to set one up, what with the way he chose to use a spear when holding up travelers. This meant he is, or was, clever enough to avoid drawing too much attention to himself.

He picked targets that a lone operative could handle, and in turn relied on a weapon suited for both offensive and defensive capabilities. Ricky was still having trouble wiping the stains from his mouth when the traveler mentioned the thug still had his money on him. Thus the wolf's eyes gradually fell from the pale man to the dead man, their blue hues moving ever so slightly, as he sorted through everything on this man from neck to foot.

A lot of leather on this one, too bad it wasn't enough to save him, otherwise Ricky would've been the one on the ground; bleeding out as a result of his failure to kill the man first. The pale man dismounted his horse afterward, appearing to approach with the intent to reclaim what was his, yet however refrained as he seemed to display sudden apprehension.

A painter? Out here in the middle of nowhere? It was evident that the man appeared squeamish, and yet there was something else Ricky hadn't forgotten about earlier as well. Even now the subtle smell of death lingered to this man, as though decay followed him wherever it is he may walk. Naturally this made Ricky feel a bit uncomfortable since, clearly, he was walking and not as dead as his scent implied.

"Fine." He finally muttered as he started to bend lower to the ground, his hands brought to search the pockets and pouchs on the man's belt straps. The wolf searched through just about everything, pulling out quite the bounty as there were a number of coin pouches pulled, along with gems and even jewelry the man had pocketed as well.

"Son o' a bitch..." Ricky lowly murmured with a fixed look of perplexed surprise, as this man clearly had been quite busy pilfering from the helpless on the road. "How much did he take from y'?" He inquired as he started to pile everything on the ground, inspecting each coin pouch individually, with the hopes that he'd pick out the traveler's before too long.

When that would happen Ricky would then simply toss it up into the air, watchful to see if the alleged painter would catch it or not. Since he had knelt down for a while now the wolf took the opportunity to grab the dry corner of the cloak he wore, pulling it up to further wipe across his face. That was when he noticed the waterskin on the bandit's belt as well, the container next for him to remove as he slipped it from the belt strap as well.

Popping the cork out with his teeth the wolf spat it onto the ground, next to the body, before tilting it back to take a generous swig. Just water. A little disappointing when he thought about it but at the same time, useful for the fact he still needed to wash the stains off his face. Thus while he swished the liquid around his teeth, Ricky tilted the waterskin to wet the palm of his hand, wiping it across his mouth a little vigorously as he slowly rose to a full stand once more.

After a moment longer of swishing the liquid, Patrick spat out the water at the ground by his foot, noticing the slight tint of red before it crashed into the dirt. "Are you realizin' the foolishness o' the decision now? Or perhaps knew all along?" The wolf checked with a curious gaze shot to the painter, almost in a challenging demeanor, as he briefly waited to hear what the response would be.

"The roads 're always dangerous t' travel, even more alone than with company. Particularly when the painter doesn't seem inclined t' fight back, when a bastard like this one starts preyin' on him later." Not that it wasn't an obvious lesson to learn already, but Ricky wasn't in the habit of letting these things go unnoticed. A painter who couldn't fight wasn't fit to be alone out here, yet here he was and in turn, saved a wolf what hounded the bandit just to reclaim stolen goods.

Were the painter not even here then chances were, Ricky would've had to hunt him a little longer, hell likely even had an actual fight on his hands also. Really the wolf appreciated the convenience of the painter's timing, but he also questioned it as one in his situation should likely do.

"Got a name, painter?" The wolf checked as he started wiping at his cheeks once more, the stains around his lips finally just about gone as he looked curiously to the pale man once more.

"Speech"

Legend of Ransera

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