[Qiu'li]

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Carving

a path to discover

True

Strength

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The first assignment their new class leader, Aegle, had entrusted him with was to pre-emptively scout the forest areas for a suitable camping spot. It was undoubtedly a task that he was selected for, given his adeptness at traversing uneven terrains. The forest was natural to him, but to think that he'd return so soon after the midterms was a bit... Overwhelming. Regardless, after the midterms the raven-haired man decided to get a mapped out area of the forest to get an idea of what exactly he was looking at. Most of it had been detailed out, but there were some dark spots, supposedly either unexplored or deemed too dangerous to proceed. The obviously dangerous ones were marked in red, though despite the thoroughness, there were still some unmarked spots. The only real parameters that was given to him was that it had to be in an open area. However, a true campsite had to have a bit more than that to make it livable, especially with multiple people and over the course of several days. Relative proximity to a drinkable water source, cleared of nearby Grimm, and a potential escape plan should things go south. All of these kinds of things should be taken into account when selecting a place to camp. Then again, all of them were armed to the teeth should something happen, so he was less worried about the last one.
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Glancing over at the taller man that accompanied him, Qiu'li tried to get a read of the man. Solomon. He had never heard of this student before, with only the exception of his name because he was selected alongside himself by the team captain to assist with the scouting mission. There would undoubtedly be some Grimm encounters along the well, though he would prefer to avoid it if he could. Their job was to scout the forest areas and find suitable spots, not go clearing out every single place they found infested with Grimm. Either way, there had to be some preliminary preparation before they could proceed. Firstly, they had to plan where to go, what places to check, and other possibilities. However, a lot of this went unsaid and undone when he realized that they had little chance to speak. It wasn't like he was the type to speak up in cheerful tones like Carmim, nor had a warm, inviting smile like Evangeline. What a bother...
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Well, it wasn't like he was ungrateful about it either. Having company at least ensured that he had someone to fight alongside him, though the idea of this Solomon leaving him behind in battle was always a possibility, and one that he would consider time and time again unless something pushed him otherwise. Qiu'li wore his signature tattered robes with his red sash tied over his waist, and his leather gloves 'n boots. They were comfortable, easy to move in, and gave him the necessary protection he needed while being able to move per usual. His weapons, Hei Tiequán, were fixed to his back via two loops that were attached to his leather belt, and dangled nicely and out of the way while being readily available at a moment's notice. He carried light equipment with him, since the rest would follow up with the necessary camping equipment later once Solomon and himself secured a nice spot.
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Once they were given their assignment, Solomon and himself had agreed with Aegle to depart earlier than the expected camping date to complete this task. Showing up only to spend the first hours finding a suitable spot would be annoying, therefore this would take care of the issue quickly. They were already in the forest, en-route when Qiu'li stopped the both of them and turned to him. "It may be a bit late, but I would like to introduce name again. Qiu'li, from forever fall. May we get along." He said as he offered his hand to Solomon. He recalled his prior encounter with Aurelian and how he introduced himself- it was best to start getting used to the common customs that were widely used nowadays. Whether or not Solomon responded, Qiu'li would move on towards their next task: Preliminary planning.
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Opening the paper map wider for Solomon to see, Qiu'li began to point to various spots on the map. "Water is needed, therefore we should be of searching for place with nearby spring or river, like here or here..." He said as he pointed to several spots that water passed by. However, many were obscured by trees, but there were others that weren't. The problem was that those that weren't were in unmarked territory. However, there were also open areas but water was a moderate distance off. "What you think we should decide first?" He asked the dark-haired man as he looked at him. Qiu'li himself had a distinctive gaze, one that bordered that of a glare. Not exactly a friendly one to be sure, but hopefully Solomon would be of the rate variety that didn't take his uninviting gaze at face value and talked to him.
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Then again, he might have just gotten incredibly lucky his his arrival and met a lot more friendly people than his lifetime could allow.

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WC: 870 TWC: 870
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--
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Fènnù (+Strength +Agility +Projectile Sword Beam) | Rank D
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Hei Tiequán | Rank E
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Featherfall I (Leap) | Rank D
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Weapon Proficiency II (Martial Arts) | Rank E
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Dance of the Wild Winds II (Acrobatics) | Rank E
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Resilience of the Crimson Oaks II (Durability) | Rank E
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Dragon's Roar II (Utility Tool) | Rank E

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[attr="class","fg-cred"]SELKIE

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[Solomon Moon]

Solomon

It already smelled like fall in the forest. Sol had been told once, that smell was the strongest sense when it came to memory, that certain odors uncover even those events of one's life most deeply buried in the subconscious. He supposed that was why he couldn't stand the smell of anti-septic. That smell in the air now conjured up much different impressions. The cloying verdant odor of summer foliage gorged by the summer rains, air thick with the chalky tang of pollen, and the discordant hints of a thousand different flower perfumes clashing like an orchestra of poorly tuned instruments, had finally given way to damp, and to rot. The air had turned earthy, soggy, a scent that Sol had come to over his two decades of existence, to associate closely with the bitter chill that was creeping into the air. If Sol had been asked to describe what that chill, the first chill of mid autumn smelled like, he probably would have described it as the damp, pungent aroma of fallen leaves, slowly composting on a forest floor, the same way he would have described the snows of winter as smelling like dry air with a hint of pine needles and old-man's beard moss.

As they came over the rise, he should have known what that smell would mean for the sights on the other side, but as many things in his life that he really should have seen coming, it caught him fully by surprise. Mistral's geography was uneven, composed of hills of mossy stone, like uneven cobbles laid down by giants, giving way to valleys choked to the brim with the greenest foliage he'd seen anywhere in Remnant, shot through with veins of twinkling blue where streams and rivers criss-crossed the valley's bases. Despite hailing from a family of Mistrallan nobility, or at least as much nobility as could be bought with blood money and violence, Sol had spent the majority of his early existence in Atlas, where the trees knew only two colors, the dark brood of evergreen, or the sterile white of snow so heavy and dense that the thin conical trees would buckle and bend, spending the entire season bowing like priests at temple. The number of autumns he had spent in Mistral could be counted on a single hand, and as such, despite every other sense warning, foretelling the obvious, despite having for some time having hiked through the wilting leaves of the forest, when his line of sight crested the massive mossy cobble that he and Qiu'll were climbing, the sight beyond struck him nearly prostrate with it's horrific splendor. Perspective was a curious kind of magic for it's ability to completely alter one's perception, and this was a fine example of it.

The forest shedding it's summer green around him had been novel, but not particularly remarkable as Sol had been travelling through beneath it's canopy, but as they crested the ridge, the two were suddenly well above the treeline of the valley beyond. That shift, just a trick of a few hundred feet of elevation, produced such a shock that Sol had to glance over his shoulder to make sure that the two of them hadn't just stepped unwittingly through a door into a completely different world. The valley beyond stretched off into the distance, broken up intermittently by other craggy hillocks of mossed stone. The lands face was a patchwork of reds, oranges, yellows, and greens where the odd stubborn pack of deciduous or evergreen stood huddled together in a clump. The colors of fall were so vivid, so striking, against the green moss of the crags and the odd island of darker greens, that it looked like the entire valley was set ablaze, and as a gentle breeze whistled through the lowland, those colors seemed to dance like living flames. Those tightly packed isles of green that still held out seemed dwarfed by the inferno that raged around them, soldiers in forest camouflage lost in an endless hellscape.

The world burned around Sol, as far off into the distance as the eye(singular), could see. Heat washed off of the crackling wood, searing his flesh, even through the many layers of heat resistant material he wore, the air so hot that the plastic visor of the self-contained breathing apparatus he wore was beginning to warp and blister, the heads up display starting to flicker and malfunction as the circuits inside shorted beneath the strain, making the world before him seem to pit and warp like the projection of a burning film reel. The sky turned black with the vast sheets of black smoke climbing from their blazing branches, the air thick as a torrential downpour with falling sparks and cinders. The buckles on his turnout gear blazed red hot wherever they faced the flames. The noise was deafening, a thunder of devouring crimson tongues whipping in the air, of bark cracking, of wood splitting, of men... men screaming...

Sol squeezed his eye shut, and put out his left hand to lean against the bough of a nearby tree. He appeared to simply be resting as Qiu'll drew up beside him, no doubt taking his own moment to admire the view. Sol had to tell himself it wasn't real. He labored to control the sudden acceleration of his breath, far above what the exercise of the climb could justify. He counted to four as he inhaled, holding the air in his lungs for four seconds, and then blowing it out again for another count, and waiting a further four before inhaling again.It was hard to do at first, but with each cycle it got a little easier. He had to tell himself what he'd seen wasn't real. He was used to seeing things that weren't there, or at least as used to it as one could every really be, and he knew what to do when it happened. The first part was controlling his breathing, fighting the rising panic by tricking his nervous system with measured inhalations. Next was he had to focus on something real, had to drag his senses back out of the past and back to reality. He kept his eye shut, that sense being the least trustworthy in his experience, and focused on the information of his other senses. Smell, least treacherous of his faculties. He was already breathing in through his nose, and out through his mouth, and caught the hint of rotten foliage, of dry leaves, of late season damp, not the stench of smoke, not the iron odor of stale a portable airtank. Taste, a close neighbor to smell. He drew a stick of salted beef out of his lapel pocket and placed it in his mouth, no chewing, just savoring the briny flavor as the strip of meat dangled from his mouth. Hearing, nearly as unreliable as sight. The trees rustled around him, the faint whistle of moving air, of dry leaves tumbling across the earth, not of roaring flames, of tortured trees splitting open, of men... burning alive... Touch, always last, always the anchor he needed to plant himself in the present. He brushed his chest with the palm of his left hand. He wore a lacquered blue breastplate beneath a swallow tailed cavalry cloak,navy blue with gold trim, long sleeves stretching down to his wrists, black leather whispering between his fingers, not the heavy flame resistant materials of his bunker-gear.

It was only then that he risked to open his eye again, and was relieved to find that nothing was burning, that he hadn't done anything he didn't remember doing, no fear white faces, not angry snarls, no accusatory glares, no blood. Not this time at least. Just the peaceful autumn forest, and the dark haired Qiu'li, holding out his right hand, making a proper introduction at last.

Sol glanced down to the offered hand, his right. Sol's right arm twitched, the actuators within, beneath artificial muscle and heat resistant scales, concealed within the navy blue sleeve of his coat and the black leather glove waking up before the one eyed man could restrain the impulse, but he very deliberately did not reach out and take the other hunter's hand. It would likely come off as rude, but Sol had never had much care for whether people thought him polite or otherwise.

"Solomon." He said, simply, wiping off his left hand and then tearing the jerked meet with his teeth as he pushed off of the tree he'd been leaning against. His voice was cracked, ragged, like he'd spent the entire morning yelling obscenities at the very top of his lungs, and now could only force sound out with great effort. His right eye smoldered a bit feverishly, molten gold above the dark black smudge that was a permanent feature beneath it. The left eye was absent, in it's place was a black patch and a long puckered rift that stretched from hairline to the left corner of his mouth and jaw. His black hair had been tied back, except for the fringe above that notable absence, seemingly in a deliberate attempt to veil it from sight. It would have been an effective deception at a distance, but up close it drew more attention than it deflected. The long sleeves and gloves were a far more effective method of concealing his disabilities, but only so much could be done for a weakness worn on his face.

That wet eye tracked down to the map, and he assumed an iconic military posture, hands clasped behind his back, weight settled into the balls of his slightly spread jack-boots, waiting patiently as a dog on a chain while Qiu'li explained the markings and finally asked for Sol's opinion. Sol was only listening with half of his attention. The other half was assessing the speaker. Qiu'li was slightly taller than Sol, but the latter's heavy soled combat boots gave him an advantage of a few centimeters compared to the former's more conservative leather riding boots. Qiu'li was composed of lean muscle, easily visible beneath the open front of his robes, but Sol reckoned even shy an arm, he still outweighed the lad by a few kilograms. Qiu'li was younger by at least a couple of years, but his expression was hard, his brown gaze tempered by combat. If Sol had to guess, this boy had seen a fair few engagements, and every aspect of his posture, his behavior, and manner, spoke of having done so competently. Sol absently wondered if this boy had been sent to keep an eye on him, but he respected the no nonsense approach, and the focus. In Sol's opinion it put Qiu'li well above the majority of classmates he'd encountered thus far.

"That one is closest." Sol said simply, in his unpleasant rockslide of a voice, words sounding less like speech and more like a dirty tank engine trying to turn over, as he jabbed at the map with his left hand, "Makes no sense to go out of our way if we don't need to."

And with that, Sol gazed about settling on some landmarks that he could recognize from the map and hopped forward, fell a half dozen feet onto the steep mossy slope of stone beneath them, and began sliding down the hill, right hand palm down for balance and trailing behind. Sol wanted to get this done before sunset, and the sooner they found a suitable site, the more thorough of a survey they could perform of the surrounding area. Safety, personal and otherwise, might hinge on the thoroughness of that subsequent survey, and Sol was eager to get started. If Qiu'li wanted to chat, then he could do it while they moved, because in Sol's opinion, even the talk of a king wasn't worth more than daylight.

@tag

1975 words

notes

Velvet of WW

[Qiu'li]

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Carving

a path to discover

True

Strength

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'What a peculiar man...' Qiu'li thought to himself. Solomon was a man of few words, like himself. Though if they were similar in any way, then that probably meant that he had a lot on his mind, or at least was thinking about a lot of things. Qiu'li was no stranger to reflection- it was something that he had learned to do a lot of in isolation of the Forever Forests. However... Something seemed different about this man. It was as if he was in a constant state of pain. He could sense it, yet there didn't seem to be anything that was namely wrong with him. Had he been attacked and wounded earlier today? Perhaps he slept on his side funny? The raven-haired man could only speculate as he watched Solomon use the tree for support and began to rest. Surely he wasn't lacking in the stamina department? Either way, the raven-haired man decided to keep the thought to himself while he continued to inspect the draw map. The increasingly labored breathing bothered Qiu'li, to say the least, but it didn't seem like he was in any pain. Perhaps it was something in his head? It was possible, given what his Master taught him about the 'shadow people.'
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"There are those that are haunted by the Spirits of their past. They come in many forms, and only they can see them for what they are. They are called the 'shadow people,' for they follow the shadows of those afflicted, and only appear when they least expect it. Fear not them, but rather understand pain is not limited to what happens to your external body."
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Qiu'li took note of his breathing patterns as he watched the man open his eye again and looked around, as if searching for confirmation about something. Could he be searching for the 'shadow people'? His hand hung in the air for a bit of time before the dark haired man gazed down at his outstretched hand. He responded with his name, and turned to push himself off the tree. The raven-haired man merely continued with his observations of the surroundings as well as the map to pinpoint landmarks to reference themselves. While he talked about the potential spots with water sources, he also denoted the potential landmarks for them to be able to reach before Solomon responded.
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His voice was quite peculiar. It was as gravely as a road filled with small pebbles that grinded against each footstep. Each syllable filled with a level of hardness that he couldn't discern. Either way, the first destination out of three was chosen with a firm press of a finger on the map. The closest, huh? Qiu'li had no qualm with that. Going to the closest one and venturing out to the locations further away from the forest entrance required the same amount of time to travel all the way to the last destination and working backwards. Therefore, either solution worked and it seemed that the former won out. The sun was barely risen over the East, but he was sure that the others are waiting patiently to know when to finish preparations for heading out on the trip.
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Solomon had hopped down a mossy slope, and Qiu'li followed behind with relative ease. Movement through uneven terrain was his main skillset, and applying it here was child's play. As he gracefully slid downwards, his gaze drew towards Solomon briefly. He wondered what kinds of things that he thinks about? What he was doing here as a Huntsman? Or rather why take on a profession where one's lifespan was relatively short. He continued to slide down, gaining faster traction as he descended.
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As soon as they made it down, the raven-haired man stepped away for Solomon to catch up as he looked around and ascended a tree in a relatively short amount of time.. They weren't far from their original spot when they first started looking at the map, and no Grimm had remained in the area. This seemed like a good place as Qiu'li nodded to Solomon before notifying him. "Does not seem like Grimm nearby, though should be cautious." His heart sank a bit as he gazed at the streaming water that was slightly obscured by a series of branches and leaves. It was no longer clear- it must have been due to the heavy flooding some time back as well as the condition of the surrounding areas as well. The first location was a bust, all thing considered. Despite having the necessary means, they were all human that needed money one way or another.
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He nodded to Solomon as he caught up to him and observed the area. "Let us move on." Qiu'li said as he turned away from the open area and circled their next destination. He was slightly faster than Solomon, and his ability to climb trees while using his forward momentum gave a lot of advantages that were restrictive to those who only trained their speed or acrobatics. Therefore, he slowed himself down a bit to match Solomon's pace as they proceeded onward
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"Where are from? I am from Forever Fall." He said in passing as he leapt towards the second tree, and then the third.


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WC: 873 TWC: 1743
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--
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Fènnù (+Strength +Agility +Projectile Sword Beam) | Rank D
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Hei Tiequán | Rank E
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Featherfall I (Leap) | Rank D
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Weapon Proficiency II (Martial Arts) | Rank E
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Dance of the Wild Winds II (Acrobatics) | Rank E
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Resilience of the Crimson Oaks II (Durability) | Rank E
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Dragon's Roar II (Utility Tool) | Rank E

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[attr="class","fg-cred"]SELKIE

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[Solomon Moon]

Solomon

Sol skidded down the slope. The mossy layer covering the rock reduced any traction he could assert to just enough to maintain his balance, while his trailing fingertips tore up five evenly spaced furrows in the verdant carpet, leaving behind a swiping clawmarks hundreds of feet long. Trees sped up to meet him, and he leaned around them, controlling the path of his own descent with subtle adjustments of his balance, golden eye alive with intense concentration, heartbeat hammering in his earths, breath coming fast. A subtle curve of his lips tugged the left corner of his mouth up towards his remaining eye, not quite a smile, but close. It was an expression for him that was the equivalent of a full-throated yell of excitement. Despite himself, this was nearly fun, and he nearly allowed himself to enjoy it... Nearly. Sol and the concept of joy were distant acquaintances at best after the last few years, but even he had to admit that there was a strange relief to having one's objectives focused down to the immediate moment, when his worries didn't extend much further than the next sapling in his path, or the next undulation in the slope. It was like the entire weight of the world had lifted off his shoulders, and he could feel something other than the bone deep weariness and animosity which had become the uniform texture of his entire existence in recent years. The world beyond the next tree ceased to exist, no school where he was a mistrusted pariah, no nation where he was resented and feared for the system he represented, no world where he was just another killer among millions. It was just him, and the slope.

And all too quickly it was over.

Sol sprang into a stumbling sprint as the ground transitioned abruptly from mossy stone to soggy earth, and thundered down the the bank like a stampeding bull, right arm raised to deflect branches from his face as he steadily burned off his momentum. He covered a good fifty yards of lunging strides before he'd depleted enough speed to come to an uncertain halt. He breathed heavily, as he broke into a loping jog that petered out to nothing as the pebble strewn bed of the river ahead came into view. The map had called this water source clean, but it was clearly no longer the case.

The river, engorged by the recent rains, thundered through the valley floor, arms of turbulent water reaching all the way to the roots of the trees that lined the banks. Several trees were listing at drunken angles, beneath the force of soil erosion and storm winds, and many more lay on their sides or propped up by splintered branches. The river itself was a writhing churn of browns and grays, an ugly yellow foam developing in areas where the befouled water swirled around the displaced boulders and trees that lined the banks like the bloated corpses of drowned men. Sol had never seen this site before, but still strangely felt a sense of loss for the extent of the ruin inflicted upon it by the flooding of the earth upstream. The water wasn't fit even getting near it safely, let alone for drinking, and it was clear even to Sol that this area was another poorly timed thunderstorm away from being fully underneath a gray brown churn of fetid water and storm debris.

"Does not seem like Grimm nearby," Came Qiu'li's voice from overhead, tearing Sol's gaze up into the canopy. He'd been so distracted by the sorry state of the camp-site that he hadn't seen the dark haired foreigner even climb the tree he was now crouching in, "though should be careful."

Sol nodded at that. It went without saying. Sol had spent the major portion of the midterms in a blind desperate flight from the an army of grimm, and was in no hurry to repeat the experience. His side, where the stitches had only recently been removed, ached a bit at the thought. Something cool and jaggedly textured dug into the palm of his left hand, and Sol glanced down to find himself gripping the neck of Whisper's scabbard, forefinger tickling the trigger guard. It was a strange thing to find himself doing without really meaning to. Usually it was the other arm that had a mind of it's own. The feel of the weapon's weight in his hand had once been a comforting sensation, but in recent years it had grown heavier. It had been a good long time since he'd unmasked the blade in anger, and he hadn't used it once during the midterms, making do with just his fists and his semblance. Strange, it used to be so easy, but now he dreaded the weapon as much as he dreaded the need to use it.

"Let us move on." Qii'li's heavily accented words came from a bit nearer, as the lightly garbed youth moved gracefully through the web of branches overhead.

Sol regarded the ease of his passage with a bit of envy, and a bit of wariness. Time battling the insurgents in the swampland between Mistral and Vacuo had given him a healthy distrust of trees, as it wasn't an uncommon tactic for the rebel factions to lay in wait in the branches and drop down upon unlucky soldiers as they passed beneath. After a time, and a lot of casualties lost to such ambushes, it had become a popular tactic to send fire teams equipped with heat-resistant armor, and compact flamethrowers into the brush ahead of the main force. Sol had lead such a team, until it had fallen to him to lead the entire army. He'd left thousands of acres of wilderness a smoldering ruin before the campaign was done.

The one eyed mercenary squeezed his eye shut again, wrestling his thoughts back visions of that offensive that attempted to intrude each time he looked into the canopy. It seemed that more and more of the world conjured up similar memories every time he looked at it, but maybe that was the price of all the blood he'd spilled. No doubt he deserved it. The dead knew, he deserved worse.

Qiu'li was building a moderate lead. The young foreigner moved faster through the branches that Sol could on the ground, at least faster than Sol could without employing his semblance. He had painful memories of how well that had gone during the midterms, and wasn't eager to repeat his mistake. Going in loud was a fine tactic when one had a fire team for support, but at the moment, all it could do was draw attention, attention no one needed. It seemed unlikely that a mysterious stranger would materialize out of the branches, throwing shockwaves and flattening Grimm by the boatload. After all, it had been unlikely the first time.

While Sol cared less for his own wellbeing with every passing hour of agony only slightly blunted by a steady cocktail of painkillers and alcohol, with every passing image of horror pulled from the depths of his mind by the most innocent of details in his surroundings, with every day living as a crippled shadow of what he'd used to be, Qiu'li seemed decent enough. The boy had not done anything just yet to deserve being chased through the woods by Grimm attracted by the sound of Sol's careless explosions.

So Sol broke into a steady jog, boots pounding the damp earth, and his breath coming fast and regular as he vaulted through the brush and over obstacles, content to simply keep the other hunter in sight.

"Where are from?" Qiu'li called over his shoulder in broken common, seemingly barely even breathing heavily with the effort of plotting a path through the interlaced confusion of branches overhead. Sol didn't really comprehend it as a question, until the youth followed it up with, "I am from Forever Fall."

Sol had heard of Forever Fall, but had only ever visited Vale on a single occasion, and that when he was very young. It was hardly exaggerating to state that the visit had not made much of an impression, as all Sol could remember of the trip was how he and his father had gone to see that towering brass statue erected to honor the Valenese King who had sealed the Vytal Treaty at the end of the Great War, and how his father had seemed so sad looking at the massive monument. Descriptions of Forever Fall described it as a forest, perpetually in the flames of autumn, leaves all red year round. Sol had seen what a forest looked like when it burned. He'd set the flames himself, and had to admit that the sight no longer had much appeal to him. Sol wished he knew more about the people who lived there. It might have given him more of an insight into Qiu'li, but as limited as his expertise was, it told Sol not much more about the raven-haired acrobat than where to point at on a map.

He considered the question as he loped along behind Qiu'li. Where was he from? His family were ostensibly Mistralan, cut from the martial caste in distant past, risen to prominence selling warriors to the surrounding kingdoms of Solitas, Mistral and Vacuo, having gained a reputation for having less than no scruples about the work as long as the pay was good, having fought for Atlas and Mistral in the decade long world war a few decades prior. Sol had not grown up in any single place. He and his father had followed the company across the kingdoms, living wherever there was work to be done, and uprooting and moving on as soon as they had been paid, unless another contract came along. Sol's idea of home, was less a physical place and more of a position within the machinery of his family forces. He'd been raised by his father, a stable of tutors that changed every few years, and the officers in his father's company. Home had always been wherever his bed or his father was, and his community a rag-tag band of mercenaries from nearly every corner of Remnant. Now he had neither of those things. His father had gone back to the mud, throat cut, choking on his own blood, and Sol himself too broken in mind and body to lead the company that was his birthright. Sol had nothing. Like his namesake, he was a man alone.

Sol provided the only answer to the question that he could come up with.

"I am from nowhere." He responded, in that level grind of gravel that was his ruined voice, "The only home I have is the battlefield."

@tag

1794/3769 words

notes

Velvet of WW

[Qiu'li]

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Carving

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True

Strength

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The more Qiu'li observed him, the more he was certain that this man was troubled by something. His eyes had a sense of aloofness to it, despite the fierce, striking energy that emanated out from him. It wasn't like he could easily tell, but the raven-haired man could sense that it was something that was bothering Solomon. Could it be simply just the 'shadow people' or was it something else? Qiu'li grimaced at himself for not studying into the concept more under Master Sattota. All he could remember was that there was a specific herb that was grown in which helped calm the nerves and temporarily held the 'shadow people' at bay. Unfortunately he had none, but he did know who did- he made a mental note to pay Holly and the Gardening club a visit after their scouting trip. His attention was fixated on how Solomon skidded down the slope, running quickly like a young child pretending to fly after hurling down a steep slope. The man was strange, indeed. The closest person that he had met which had a similar resemblance was Aurelian, but perhaps it was because they had little interaction with each other. Qiu'li stayed up in the trees and continued to give a bird's eye view after his initial report. There was little need to, but the raven-haired man had made mistakes of calling it safe after simply observing the surroundings. Focus on the leaves, and you'll miss the trees. Focus on the trees, and you'll miss the forest. That was something that Master Sattota had taught him repeatedly, and for good reason. Trying to focus on one specific aspect will cause one to lose sight of the larger things. Things that one could easily have spotted had they not closed off their senses.
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As they moved on from the first spot, his eyes traveled down to the one known as Solmon, and met with his single eye as well. Why was he staring up at him while he was in the tree? Was he perhaps also curious about himself? Qiu'li wasn't sure, yet the fact that he was being stared at by Solomon brought up more questions than answers. Regardless, this seemed like a good chance as any to get to known him a bit prior to their camping trip. They were both going to be attending after all. As he started to gain speed, he had realized that putting too much of a gap between the two could spell trouble, especially in a forest where danger still lurks around and the Scroll communication was unreliable at times. As a result, Qiu'li decided to slow down to match Solomon's speed to not only conserve energy, but to make sure they were within speaking distance of each other.
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Solomon's answer initially surprised him. How could one exist, yet not have any origins? Was he not born without parents? Was he born without a home to return to? Does he have no clan to whom his surname originates from? Qiu'li didn't understand his answer, at least until the second part was added. Home on the battlefield. Qiu'li understood what it meant to always be in conflict- the crimson forests of Forever Fall was full of it. "My home... Nowhere is safe, even within the villages. Bandits and Grimm attack at any time, and those that protect village know that it is never safe. In the same way, the forest was like a battlefield too" Qiu'li said in response to Solomon. "Yet I still consider it home, because it is where my origins, my ancestors come from. Battlefield may be where you are most comfortable, but is not home." The raven-haired man concluded as they reached the second potential location where there was a second water source. Once again, he clambered one of the higher trees and scouted the area for signs of Grimm. Reporting the lack of any to Solomon, he came back down to inspect the water source with the dark-haired man.
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Clean. Much more so than the first one. It was acceptable, to say the least. Gazing at the surrounding areas. There were even fresh fruits and berry bushes that were nearby. An abundant of sorts, to say the least. Perhaps it was something about the water that gave it nutrients, or the fact that it had been left untouched, but once he looked down, Qiu'li realized just why much of it had remained relatively untouched. Fissures, destroyed terrain, uneven surfaces, and a ton of unreachable areas due to what looked like landslides populated this area to the point of the raven-haired man being reluctant to drop down below. Qiu'li looked over to see if Solomon was able to navigate the largely non-traversible terrain and began to mark the map with details from the first checkpoint as well as the second. "It appears the land is unsuitable to be used." Qiu'li said to Solomon as he packed away the map after confirming the direction for the third destination.
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"Should we rest briefly before continuing? I want to ask about that, as well." Qiu'li pointed to Solomon's eyes... or lack thereof of one at least. As little tact as he had, Qiu'li never grasped the idea of moderation. If something curious stuck out to him, he would ask it plain and simple. It wasn't like he was offending anyone by asking things. "What happened there? Did you lose it from something?" He asked in his usual inquisitive tone as he tilted his head in curiosity. Right?
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Right?

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WC: 923 TWC: 2666
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--
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Fènnù (+Strength +Agility +Projectile Sword Beam) | Rank D
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Hei Tiequán | Rank E
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Featherfall I (Leap) | Rank D
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Weapon Proficiency II (Martial Arts) | Rank E
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Dance of the Wild Winds II (Acrobatics) | Rank E
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Resilience of the Crimson Oaks II (Durability) | Rank E
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Dragon's Roar II (Utility Tool) | Rank E

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[Solomon Moon]

Solomon

Sol was starting to feel a bit of pride in himself, as he kept pace with the far more nimble Qiu'li dancing through the trees like a tall dark squirrel. Sol had spent a long time in the hospital after the last campaign. Months of being confined to a bed, undergoing dozens of surgeries, fighting numerous infections, and having half of his body peeled open to make room for a hundred different implants, had seen a massive decline in his overall stamina following the harrowing ordeal. It felt good to be keeping pace with someone as fit as his partner. It made Sol feel like he might actually be able to claw himself back to the point of physical prowess he'd enjoyed prior to being nearly killed in battle. That pride lasted precisely until Sol realized that Qiu'li was deliberately pacing himself to allow the one eyed warrior to catch up.

When Qiu'li started talking a moment later, Sol realized why he was even bothering to let him catch up rather than lag further and further behind. Sol had a bit of a sinking feeling, and hoped, rather selfishly, even he would admit, that Qiu'li didn't mean to actually turn this into a conversation, but soon it was obvious that the other boy meant to make use of this excursion to get to know Sol. Sol personally regarded that objective as an especially unfortunate, no matter how well intentioned. In Sol's experience, getting to know him rarely made people like him more. The best case scenario, in Sol's opinion, was that he could give just enough of a response to keep Qiu'li talking for as long as was possible, and allow him to carry the majority of the conversation while Sol kept details relevant to himself as few and far between as he could manage.

Qiu'li's upbringing sounded nearly as rough as Sol's own. Though he rather thought that his own experience would had more in common with the Grimm or Bandits from the other raven-haired teen's account. In fact, Qiu'li's idealistic, rustic existence sounded just like the sorts of people that Sol had spent a not insignificant portion of his life fighting and killing in the forgotten corners of Remnant's wildernesses, but it would hardly help to say so. Combine that with his affinity for traversing the woods in the highest reaches of the trees, and Qiu'li could easily have been one of the men Sol had sent back to the mud himself. That was before though, and Sol was no longer certain that he had the proficiency to be much of a threat to any of his classmates in a straight up fight. He could tell that Qiu'li didn't really understand what he'd meant by being only at home on a battlefield.

Comfort had nothing to do with it. Battles, true pitched battles, where the bodies got so thick it was hard to tell friend from foe, where death was never further than arm's reach and could claim the weak and the mighty alike with equal ease, were awful, terrifying experiences, that only seemed appealing to the young and stupid and inexperienced. Sol had spent such a vast portion of his life in mortal terror that one day the fear had just stuck. Facing death on a regular basis had not made him fearless. It had just made him afraid, seemingly of everything. People spoke of glory in battle, of honor, of being made better by the experience, and in Sol's opinion it was all a lie. Wield glory and see how many men you can kill. Give honor to one man, and a shield to another and see who dies first. Fighting didn't make you a better man, all it did was make you better at fighting, better at killing.

And the thing was, the better you got at killing, the worse you were for anything else, and Sol had been good at killing, he'd been one of the best. What did that make him now? Now that he wasn't even good at that anymore? Sol reckoned it made him everything he deserved to be.

Up ahead, the terrain underwent another transfiguration. The forest floor gave way to bulging slides of earth that seemed to have melted like wax and flowed into the rest of the forest. At the furthest extent of the slides, Sol could see trees leaning dangerously, pushed into awkward angles by the weight of earth against their bases. This seemed less recent than the flooding downstream, as there were numerous bushes, replete with berries dotting the slops of earth, seemingly benefiting from the difficulty of reaching them. Sol changed his path to take him wide of the slides, and making towards a more shallow slope of hill where the slides were less deep and broken up by deep trenches of erosion.

He saw Qiu'li hunkered in the bough of a nearby tree and skidded to a stop. The bastard wasn't even out of breath. Solomon was showing a sheen of sweat on his brow, and breathing heavily. He still hadn't done as much running as he'd done during the midterms, but that wound in his side ached like fire. The golden eyed mercenary was nearly relieved when his partner suggested taking a break, only to have Qiu'li ruin it a moment later.

"What happened there? Did you lose it from something?" The damn savage asked as he pointed callously at Sol.

It was so unexpected, so inappropriate, and frankly shocking that Solomon didn't know what the raven-headed boy was talking about. His right hand garbed in a dark leather glove, half raised, as if to touch the right side of his face. Judging by the cut of his hair, which left the fringe untied and long on the right hand side, Solomon had made efforts to obscure the hideous injury, but hair alone could only do so much to hide the truth. A vivid line of pink puckered flesh stretched from the hairline beneath a plain black eye-patch and slithered down his cheek and touched the corner of his mouth before meeting his jaw. The ruined flesh seemed to know it was being talked about, and took that moment to give a quivering spasm of nerveless twitching that made the slack flesh squirm like a bagful of eels.

Sol's mouth had dropped half open, and closed with a nearly audible click of his teeth. His lips remained parted for a moment longer, teeth gritted, before his mouth drew into a thin, hard line. His expression was like a pane of glass steadily frosting over, until his face was made of ice and his gaze of flat steel.

"I'm not tired..." He said, a bit more of a growl in the jagged rasp of his voice, and then with some actual venom making the words nearly hiss in the air, "Take a break if you need it."

Truly he would have enjoyed the moment of rest, as much as he could enjoy anything anymore, but he wasn't going to stick around after Qiu'li had dropped that question in between them like a wet shit. Teeth gritted, Sol pumped his legs, to carry himself up the slope, right hand sinking fingers effortlessly into the hardened earth and savagely hauling his entire weight up the most extreme of the slopes with just one arm.

Sol's face was red with more than just effort, and spit sprayed from his teeth as he pushed air in and out through the gaps in his teeth, growling with more than just the effort of the climb. He did not look back to see if Qiu'li was following, not even after he'd crested the peak of the slide and started making his way down the other side. The way was a bit easier on the downslope, but Sol still needed to jump over a few precarious gaps, and stomped down on the far sides each time like he was angry at the soil itself. On the final gap, he cleared it without much issue, but as he stomped down hard on the distant lip of the fissure, in a turn of fate even Sol could have predicted if he weren't so furious, it gave way beneath the blow. Sol yelped and went down hard.

Luckily, because he'd been jumping down to the lip, he didn't actually fall into the fissure. Instead he pitched forward onto his chest, cracked his chin against the ground and then tumbled end over end down the remainder of the slide. He came to rest, splayed out, face down at the foot of the slide, descent halted by a toppled sapling, which hit him hard in the side, sending spike of agony through the old injury beneath his shirt.

Now humiliated, as well as furious, Sol scrambled to his feet, covered in debris and dirt, twigs poking from his wild hair at odd angles, and grabbed the sapling, which was about as wide as his forearm and embedded several feet deep into the dried mud of the slide, before hauling the entire unfortunate plant out of the soil. The earth cracked and then bulged and then burst outward, sending Sol wobbling a few strides back.

"MOTHERFUCKER!" He bellowed, as he beat the tree into splinters against the bank, only dropping it when there was nothing left for him to grasp.

He threw the remains of the sapling at his feet and stomped on it, before pivoting on his heel and charging up stream. He did not even make efforts to avoid the smaller of the trees in his path and simple hammered them aside with smart blows from his gloved fist, causing their trunks to shatter outwards and topple, leaving behind a trail of severed trunks as he plotted a path towards the next potential camp site. Though, whether he knew were he was going anymore was fully up to debate, as his direction seemed to be chosen less from intent and more by the mere momentum of his fury.

Sol made if a few hundred meters, carried on the force of his anger, before exhaustion, and more importantly, the sharp burning pain that insistently stabbed his side, brought him to a gasping halt. He propped himself up with arms on knees, doubled fully over and blowing hard, laboring to bring his breathing back under control as he squeezed his eye shut. The ringing in his ears started to dissolve back into the sound of the forest, and the hammering of his furious heart slowed gradually back to a less suicidal pitch.

It was then that Sol noticed something on the ground near the toe of his, now thoroughly scuffed, combat boot. There was a depression in the soft soil, about as large as a dinner plate, about the same shape as an inverted stylized cartoon heart, with four smaller ovals the size of saucers spread out above it. The earth around the depression still glistened with the pushed up moisture from the soil. It was fresh. A fresh beowolf track.

"Oh fuck..." Sol murmured as he straightened up like a current had passed through him, scanning the brush for evidence of the track's owner.
It didn't take long to find. Mostly because the Grimm in question found Sol first. A flicker of movement in the bushes on Sol's right gave him enough of a warning to raise his aura, as a towering lupine shape crashed out of the brush and slammed into him. The one eyed warrior squawked as he turned and shoved the parted maw of ivory teeth aside, with his right hand, and was wrapped in a pair of thick black arms, claws grasping his breastplate and barging him bodily off his feet and into the air.

The grappling bodies tumbled down the bank towards the river, sending a slide of pebbles rattling loudly down the bank around them. Yips, growls, screams, filled the air and it wasn't clear who whether the noises belonged to man or Grimm. They bounced down to the water's edge in a ball of shaggy black fur, navy blur fabric, and flailing limbs, and burst apart as the foot of the bank slammed into the their forms.

Sol log rolled away from the impact, splashing through about six inches of frigid water sloshing up from the river only a few feet away, all the air driven out of his chest, and unable to stand as he labored to draw another breath. The Grimm scrambled nervelessly for a moment, before clawing itself back to it's feet. It spent one uncertain moment shaking it's head clear of the impact, and then pounced onto it's prey once more. Sol had managed to suck in a rasping breath by now, and reacted without thinking.

He wound up his right arm against his side, and as the beast fell upon him, he unleashed a desperate right cross, striking the monster right on it's ivory mask. It shouldn't have been enough to stop the falling wolf, delivered from a supine position, without much room to really punch much weight behind it, but even still, the gloved fist crunched into the beast's cheek, hard enough to send chips of bone showering out from the impact and to hammer the hellspawn off course and scattered into the riverbed. It yowled and splashed into the churning water, before being swept tumbling down stream.

Sol gasped, his entire body smarting from the brief tumble, and pushed himself to sitting, scanning the surging water for signs of black fur. The Grimm clawed itself out of the churn about fifty feet down current, snarled angrily up at the seated hunter. Sol felt like he really should have had something smart to say right then, but all he could think to do was get unsteadily to his feet and assume a combat stance.

"Your move, fido." He muttered beneath his breath, wondering if Qiu'li was still taking a break on the other side of the slide, and missing the dark haired foreigner just a bit right then.

@tag

2345/6114 words

notes

Velvet of WW

[Qiu'li]

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Carving

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True

Strength

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The sudden stop and half-attempt to touch his eye as well as the gaping look was pretty telling. Qiu'li gazed at him and studied his movements, like an animal gazing at a curiosity. The teeth click was audible enough for the raven-haired man to hear from here, and the expression somehow became... Colder? He wasn't sure if he was imagining it, or if the dark-haired man really had changed his expression as a reaction to his question, but the fact of the matter is that Qiu'li sensed hostility in his world. No, rather not hostility, but more of abrasion- something similar to his father's voice in the past. In turn, Qiu'li instinctively also had his guard up, but quickly dropped it as Solomon turned away and told him that he was not tired. That was quite obviously a lie- he had shown up drenched in sweat and breathing heavily. What was he trying to prove? That didn't make any sense... Hunters took breaks when they needed it to avoid getting caught in traps or to be able to think clearly in a dire situation.

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Qiu'li watched Solomon climb the clay'd earth with a single arm and tried to ponder what just happened, and what he did wrong that might have caused this. Thinking back, there were few people that he had met in the village that were like Solomon. Missing limbs of sorts, they were once great defenders of the tribe and fought valiantly to protect those that couldn't fight. His father being one of them, though he had his limbs intact. While the raven-haired man seldom interacted with those people (or really anyone in the village due to his father), Qiu'li would watch them from afar and observe them. There were two types of people that he had noticed: Those that carried themselves in a proud manner, and continued to work diligently despite their injury. They were positive people, who still joked, laughed, cried and persevered. The other type of people that he saw were somber, emotionless, as if something had been wrenched from within their soul. They merely sat in corners, head slouched, sometimes with a bottle of alcohol in hand. Some would get angry at the mere mention of them and lash out at passerby's, harassing them for more alcohol or brag about how they lost their limbs for them as justification for their actions. They became eyesores to the villagers, and often became scorned by others. They had no place in a village where they were just getting by, and soon enough, they would no longer be around.

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The raven-haired man contemplated this and recalled his previous experience: Nasrin. She was most definitely among the former group. Despite her missing arm, she still has a burning passion from within her. She continues to challenge those from above and works hard for her idea of justice with a smile on her face and a determined fighting spirit that encompasses her. She was the embodiment of the former group: Animated, and lively. There was Evangeline as well. Bright, radiant, and energetic, Evangeline was the embodiment of those ideals. Despite her missing limbs, she continued to live with her head held high and a smile on her face. His memory defaulted back to when they were in their cave, where they were inches from each other as they spoke about her feelings. Right. She was still worried about what others thought about herself, but despite that, she still gave others like him a chance to open up to her. What was is that these two had which gave them the strength? Perhaps it was something unseen. Something that drove them forward. Something that gave them strength from within. Nasrin's was most likely a drive towards wanting to see change; change in a system that did not favor her or those that she considered comrades. Evangeline's was a drive towards helping others, or at least that's what he saw so far. The more he spent time with her, the more he learned. Bit by bit.

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Now, Qiu'li brought his attention to Solomon, who had just made it over the peak of the hill. He seemed... Not so much as part of the latter group, but dangerously heading there. Perhaps he was already among the group, but not quite there yet. Perhaps he lost more than his eye? At least, that is what his instinct told him, considering the odd behavior that went on with his right arm moving half-hardheartedly sometimes. Could it be a prosthetic like Evangeline's? He wasn't sure, but he had some notion that it wasn't simply just his eye that was injured. Either way, Qiu'li mulled over how to proceed from here. What would he do? If it were the villagers, the easy answer is to leave him be. It costed no energy to simply go the other direction and let him do as he wished. Those that have followed that path are beyond redemption, and just an eyesore to the others. They provided no benefit other than existing to be a mouth to feed and were better off dead in a ditch. If he broke that tradition and followed what he saw now... He would chase after him. Those who had lost many didn't mean that they were doomed to fall. Living would be more difficult, but to exist was a struggle in itself. It would take energy to pursue him, but in doing so, perhaps he would figure out why he acted that way. Perhaps he could learn something, and possibly gain insight to what it means to continue living despite losing something essential to them. Qiu'li knew what to do.

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There were signs of a fall here, or at least Solomon had stumbled along and crashed into something that caused the abrupt stop. Gazing at the fallen sapling, there were signs of fresh damage done to it. Perhaps he had attacked it because he saw a bug? Nah- it was most likely to vent out his frustration. Frustration from what? Qiu'li had some idea. He must have offended him in some way with his sudden question. People like Nasrin wouldn't blink an eye when asked about her missing arm, but asking someone like Evangeline would probably lead to surprise and a bit of worry. Ah. That was his mistake. Asking about his injury with little tact must have lead him to respond that way, and as a result, he wanted to avoid him. The raven-haired man mentally kicked himself, but now wasn't the time to think about his mistake. The problem was, they were separated from each other- their original objective was to the check the various checkpoints for a suitable position, but the fact of the matter is that the last two spots were in unmarked territory, and with that, the risk of encountering Grimm had increased exponentially. Qiu'li looked forward at the trail of footsteps and climbed onto the nearest tree clusters to begin pursuing it. It seemed to have gone upstream, which was towards the direction of the third checkpoint. Perhaps he decided to go ahead and scout the area before him? It was possible. He seemed like the type of person who would follow through with his assignment.

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Except, he pursuit was stopped short as he picked up on something. There was something odd about these tracks: They were mixed in with the tracks of something else. Not only that, but they weren't human. They were.... Animal-like, except they were large tracks. His eyes narrowed as Qiu'li drew out Hei Tiequán and muttered under his breath. "Grimm." As if on cue, the sounds of howling and the echoes of clanging metal and fighting reached his ears. It came from the direction of where Solomon's footsteps went, and the raven-haired man assumed the worse. He picked up the pace and soared through the trees at full speed towards the direction of the fighting, and found more signs of struggling. A broken bank, signs of sliding, and the sound of water running in the distance. Qiu'li continued to leap from tree to tree, climbing with each leap to gain a better vantage point to assess the situation. From what the raven-haired man could assess, there was good news and bad news. The good news was, there was only the one Grimm. A Beowolf, and a large one at that. The bad news was, when there's one, more is bound to follow, and the raven-haired man could sense the nest stirring. Could it be the source of negative energy coming from Solomon? Either way, they had to dispatch of the one immediately in front of them before they could get away.

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From the trees above the bank, Qiu'li leapt out and soared his way down. Clasping the two ends of Hei Tiequán together, the tonfas became one metal bo staff as he came hurling towards the large beowolf. Just as he was above the beast, Qiu'li wound up his body and sent the staff hurling towards it, aimed at the back of it's head. It seemed Solomon and the beast was at a momentary standstill, but Qiu'li knew that time was of the essence, and they needed to move immediately. The raven-haired man would open an opportunity for Solomon to finish it off as the staff crashed into the Grimm's skull and went partway into the earth with a resounding, metallic 'thud,' causing the Grimm to stumble towards Solomon in a seemingly dazed state. Quickly, Qiu'li curled his body and performed a shoulder roll, allowing him to displace the shock of the impact across his body and prevent excess damage to himself upon landing. Sliding to the side, Qiu'li grasped onto the ground as he skidded to a stop beside Solomon, legs raised and one arm on the ground. "I apologize for the delay, Solomon." He muttered to him. "I have much to discuss with you, but we have more problem. More are coming. We should finish this one quickly and escape to next checkpoint, before the rest of the pack is of arrival." He said with a quick look behind the Grimm to make sure they weren't too late.

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This was going to get busy.

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WC: 1704 TWC: 4370
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--
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Fènnù (+Strength +Agility +Projectile Sword Beam) | Rank D
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Hei Tiequán | Rank E
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Featherfall I (Leap) | Rank D
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Weapon Proficiency II (Martial Arts) | Rank E
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Dance of the Wild Winds II (Acrobatics) | Rank E
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Resilience of the Crimson Oaks II (Durability) | Rank E
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Dragon's Roar II (Utility Tool) | Rank E

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[attr="class","fg-cred"]SELKIE

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[Solomon Moon]

Solomon

The warrior's solitary golden eye fixed onto the searing red gaze of the towering lyncanthrope. Every inch of his skin tingled as if it were electrified, the fine hairs all over him standing up straight, as a boiling cocktail of endorphins flooded his bloodstream. The world took shape around him. It was as if what had been reality was just a veil drawn over the world around him, an impossibly sheer membrane that separated him from what lay beyond the reach of his hand, and now that veil was drawing away from him. The veil did not part so much as it it seemed to fall across everything, pulled infinitely taught across existence, causing every edge, every curve to press through that membrane and stand out. It seemed to happen slowly, though in fact it was a matter of mere fractions of an instant, as Sol became aware of his surroundings in a way that made every moment other than the present seem like a fantasy, and illusion, a lie. He could see every edge standing out, sharp enough to draw blood.

The flowing river to his left, a roaring howling hurricane of sound, the individual particles of fluid in the air, a flood, the grain of the tree bark on his right, a confusion of mile deep chasms rising to razor points, the shale beneath his feet, a mountain of knives, singing with deafening music as his weight shifted on top of it. What had seemed still a moment before, came alive, a writhing unnameable chaos of movement and sound, deafening, blinding in it's totality. Sol could see the individual plumes of the Grimm's matte black pelt, could see the singular wisps of steam rising on it's breath, could count the striations in it's furious crimson corneas, could see the black blood pulsing beneath. A vibration rose out of him, like a heartbeat, connecting him to the world around him. He saw the danger, the fragility of the world around him, the trunk of the mighty tree that could crush, the bark that could shatter, the water that could boil, the depths that could drown, the drooling maw that could bite, the teeth that could be smashed.

A cold feeling rose out of his stomach and seeped out of the innumerable small hurts and the permanent extremes across his body, flowing into his veins. It was the cold of far north, the cold of winter, of meat from which blood and life had departed, like death itself were reaching into him and piloting his body like a marionette. Sol let it come. It was an old familiar tenant of his body, and by this point may have more claim to his flesh than did the man called Solomon Moon. He sometimes wondered in his more lucid moments, just how much of his life he'd lost to the cold blooded thing that lived inside him, to that thing that knew only wrath. That thing had no name that he'd ever given it. When it came, names, and wonder were far away, they were things that lived far above the depths in which it dwelt. The men that Sol had served with had sensed that thing inside him, and had joked, and called it "The One-Eyed Dragon", and then they had seen it, had seen it work, had seen it do the only thing it did, and they had stopped laughing. The name had stopped being a joke. It had become a warning. They did not know what it was, even though they had named it, but they came to distrust it. They came to hate it.

Sol knew what it was, in so much that he knew that it was the true master of his flesh. He knew that the part of him that knew, that thought that felt, was just the skin that it wore, that his name, his life, his reason were just a thin disguise for the thing that lived inside, for the only thing that there was when you scratched him deeper than the surface, maintained only long enough to pass unnoticed to lay dormant, and cast aside the moment it was called for.

The Grimm knew too. It had been drawn towards that thing as surely as a moth to flame, as surely as a mote of dust circling a whirlpool, as inevitable as instinct, as much an axiom as magnetism. The Grimm did not name it. The Grimm did not name anything. But the Grimm knew it. It had called, and the Grimm had come. They spoke the same language after all.

The wolf bayed, throwing out it's chest, unhinging it's jaw and giving vent to a shrill keening howl that rattled the bones in Sol's chest. Something howled back. It was Sol's voice, his rasping husk cranked up to tear at the inside of his throat like a lungful of razors, like the boiling exhaust of a war machine, the muzzle flare of a howitzer, but what roared was no longer Sol, it was becoming something else, something terrible.

What the Grimm would have thought in it's dim simulacrum of thought of the display would remain forever a mystery, as that was the instant when a dark haired youth vaulted over it's head through the stooping canopy of acacia leaves, and cast down a shaft of interlocked batons that punched the beast's head down into the scrabble strewn floor just as it lowered to all fours and prepared to charge. The beast's jaws clicked shut with a sharp crunch as it was slammed prone on the shale, roar cut off in a shill yelp. Even the One-Eyed Dragon was brought up short by the sudden appearance, only dimly recalling the raven haired young man who had been travelling with him, his own bellow of fury slowly drawing to an uncertain conclusion as he watched the man tumble to come up beside him. It could have been the first time he'd seen the other man, but the language of alliance was as universal as the language of violence. He said something, but the Dragon wasn't listening.

Gloved fingertips, scuffed and muddy, concealing a hand of metal and machinery, plunged up to the wrist in the tough scrabbly earth until they encountered enough resistance to grab hold and throw the entire rest of the body to which the arm was attached forward at the speed of a low velocity artillery shell. The one eyed warrior streaked towards the flattened beast, spiraling ballistic like a bullet, closing the gap near as fast as the eye could follow.

The wolf was groggily pushing itself back to all fours when the man shaped projectile speared it just where the fragile bone connected it's shoulder to it's collar. The beast yelped as it was blown over onto it's side by the force of the impact. Arms closed around it's neck, as it tried to cry out in what might have been mortal terror and what was almost certainly terminal confusion. One paw flopped uselessly at it's side, the structure that would have allowed it to lift it's arm all but destroyed on that side, while it fumbled numbly with the other, but could not reach the over it's own head to get at the man who was slowly but surely choking it to death. The Grimm's growl strangled off into a whine as it clawed desperately at the arm that looped over it's neck, but it's claws could not harm what lay beneath the warrior's sleeve and while it could and did reduce the fabric to ribbons, it could not make the the grip release as much as a micron. The snare slipped a fraction tighter and the Grimm let forth a pitiful warbling sound that whistled slightly near the end.

The wolf rose drunkenly onto it's hind legs and then pitched backwards. Perhaps it meant to shake off the hunter by bludgeoning him against the earth. Perhaps it lost it's balance due to the restricted flow of black blood to it's approximation of a brain. Man and beast hit the forest floor with a muffled thump. The Grimm thrashed, with all the desperation of a sentient being facing it's own extinction, and though it did flatten several shrubs and scatter the shale surface of the forest floor, it could not shake off it's murderous passenger.

Crimson eyes rolled around in a shattered mask, jaws thrown wide, it's howl of fury now silent, and likely to forever remain thus, pink tongue bulging, starting to turn purple. Those eyes swiveled up to find the golden gaze of the serpent coiled around it's throat, squeezing the life out of it. That golden gaze did not blink. The grimace on the man's face, which had lips drawn back from sharp white teeth, did not touch that gaze. That gaze was not merely dead, it was made of death. Were doom not certain by now, a single glance at that gilded eye was enough to tell the Grimm that there would be no escape, no mercy, because in that eye was something that had been absent when the wolf ambushed the hunter less than a minute prior. Catharsis in hues of sulfur, relief in shades of cyanide, ecstasy in muted tones of flame. The thing that held it was not doing this simply to kill the beast. It could have done that a hundred ways and a hundred times more quickly. The thing that held it was doing this, like this, because it was enjoying it, because it wanted the wolf to see him, and to know that it could not escape. The thing that held it, which was shaped only slightly like a man, wanted the last thing the Grimm saw to be him, to be his pitiless golden gaze.

The animal took a long time to die, but after a few moments it lost any strength to resist by. It could only watch, screaming it's silent scream. The thing that had been Solomon Moon when he hiked out here, did not so much as blink. He maintained eye contact with the animal as it gasped out it's last desperate breaths, his attention fixed firmly upon its red hopeless, terrified eyes, as if the answer to some great secret, some arcane truth which he desperately required, lay at the bottom of the monster's despair. As life left the wolf, as it finally grew slack and lifeless in his embrace, he looked on a moment longer, as if he had a glimpse of whatever wisdom he hoped to find in the visage of a living being as life departed, but it had once more eluded his grasp. Then without any ceremony at all, he dumped the corpse, already dissolving into wisps of black particles and swirling away in a wind that touched nothing else, and turned that flat, empty golden gaze towards Qiu'li. That gaze that had watched something die, a horrible and cruel death, and showed not the meanest sign of sympathy or remorse, shifted not a micron as it fell upon the other human. In fact, that gaze had not changed at all from when they first met and came out here. It had always looked like that. It had always looked just like it looked when it watched something die. When it killed.

The one eyed man spat, clearing some of the grit out of his mouth, as he glanced down in bemusement at the shredded remains of his sleeve, and the red ceramic and translucent blue metal that was peeking through. Then a series of yips and yowls rose out of the forest nearby. He paid the sound a cocked ear, and seemed to perform a bit of arithmetic, before plunging through the brush in the opposite direction, paying little regard to the other hunter as he left.

@tag

1979/8093 words

notes

Velvet of WW

[Qiu'li]

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Carving

a path to discover

True

Strength

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The good news was, the hit distracted the beast enough for Solomon to take charge and finish it off before it could call for help and make their location much easier to find for the others. The bad news was, Solomon seemed very... Different. All animals, big or small, comes predisposed with an invaluable 'sense': The ability to sense bloodlust. Although humans have developed this ability in order to size up their opponents, animals are much more finely tuned to this seemingly natural ability to estimate the power differences between each other. The ability to exert bloodlust, or more specifically, control their bloodlust, has become a key element of survival for both animals and humans alike. Even the largest of predators can sense when a threat is too much for them and do one of three things: Run away, submit, or in rare cases of both humans and animals backed into corners: Fight back. The biggest giving away factor was probably the incredibly large amount of bloodlust that radiated out of the individual as the raven haired man's eyes narrowed upon viewing the sight before him.
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A mess of metal, flesh, and fur, Qiu'li stood up slowly and trotted over to retrieve his staff before turning to face Solomon and the Beowolf. Glints of light between the fabric and the mud confirmed his suspicions about a prosthetic that he wore, but that wasn't entirely useful information for the raven-haired man at the moment. Qiu'li had no reason to feel sympathy for the way that the creature was dying. It was kill or be killed, and the raven-haired man knew fully that if the Beowolf didn't die, they would. Growing up in Forever Fall made him realize that fact from very young. However, it wasn't the method that Solomon chose to defeat the Beowolf. The whines fell on death ears between them. Rather, it was the length that Solomon was taking in killing the Grimm. Qiu'li counted the number of faint howls, and it seemed to only grow louder the longer they remained here. If anything, the raven-haired man was nervous about the incoming horde of Grimm. Between the two of them, they could probably fight off a small pack. However, given the amount of time he went into making the Grimm suffer before killing it by choking it to death instead of quickly dispatching it, Qiu'li was less than inclined to think that this man was the smartest in terms of self-preservation.
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Qiu'li knew when was the best time to fight, and when was the best time to run. In this case, the raven-haired man had no particular attachment or connection to Solomon, nor any reason to stick around to watch him asphyxiate a Grimm for some kind of enjoyment that he got out of it. As the pawsteps grew closer, the raven-haired man decided not to chance getting swarmed. "Last checkpoint is past there." He said as he turned to face the brush. "Meet at last checkpoint to inspect." Qiu'li muttered before detaching his staff into it's tonfas and holstered them into the leather loops that were attached to his lower back. Then, he took a running start onto the trees and began traveling along the tree branches in order to avoid the ground terrain as well as keep an eye for any of their furry assailants pursuing him. He did what he could, and that was helping Solomon out of his situation, but with the situation, the stakes were different: There was an unknown number of Beowolves coming from a distance- while he could easily outrun them, they had the element of numeral surprise. Not only that, but Solomon seemed much slower than he did from an objective standpoint, which further bothered Qiu'li. They were sent out on a scouting mission- if he returned alone, to what extent would this affect their team leader? Qiu'li preferred not to think of the alternative, and fought against his natural instinct to run in order to turn his head back to see where Solomon was going.
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To his surprise, Solomon was below him one moment, and gone the next. The man seemed much more... Different than his usual demeanor. The raven-haired man decide to pursue the one-eyed man from above, mostly for two reason: One, despite him not having any obligation to protecting him, they were still teammates, or at least that's how they're officially labeled according to the administration and Aegle. Two, leaving him alone now would surely lead to his death with the increased numbers of Grimm that have seemed to been attracted to his area. If they were separated, Qiu'li himself would have a much harder time fighting his way out, therefore having at least someone to take some of the attention off of him alone would increase his chance of survival. Simple as that. While Solomon was considerably slower than him still, the Grimm didn't seem to be pursuing them as ferociously as he had anticipated- perhaps they were lucky and made it out at the nick of time, or perhaps they managed to avoid getting caught due to the unnatural terrain. Regardless, at least there was no immediate threat of being surrounded. In the meantime, he kept a watchful eye from above, careful not to run into Solomon or get in his direct line of sight.
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By the time that Qiu'li had exhausted himself, they had reached the foot of the mountain. Coincidentally, this happened to be the last place on their mapped regions to scout, but frankly that wasn't the most important thing on his mind at the moment. Panting heavily, Qiu'li stopped on one of the thicker branches to catch his breath and looked around to make sure that they weren't in immediate danger. There was no noise of the Grimm nearby, but the distant echoes of howling did reach them. How far they were, the raven-haired man could only roughly estimate was quite a distance from them. At least a safe enough distance where he didn't have to check his surroundings constantly. Regardless, the raven-haired man let himself down from the tree as he surveyed the area. It lead to an open field, but Qiu'li decided not to check the area before he confirmed that Solomon was here and alive. If Solomon was indeed nearby, Qiu'li would try to approach him and talk to him. He wanted to formally apologize for his rash question- acknowledging that it might have been something that he should not have asked and request his forgiveness to ensure that there was no bad spirits between them in order to complete the assignment. If Solomon wasn't here with him or that was less than willing to hear him out... Well, there wasn't really much the raven-haired man could do at that point but make sure that he could establish a link with him through their scroll or wait for a moment before turning to scout the final destination.

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WC: 1159 TWC: 5529
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--
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Fènnù (+Strength +Agility +Projectile Sword Beam) | Rank D
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Hei Tiequán | Rank E
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Featherfall I (Leap) | Rank D
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Weapon Proficiency II (Martial Arts) | Rank E
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Dance of the Wild Winds II (Acrobatics) | Rank E
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Resilience of the Crimson Oaks II (Durability) | Rank E
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Dragon's Roar II (Utility Tool) | Rank E

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[attr="class","fg-cred"]SELKIE

[newclass=.fg-box] width:500px; height:600px; display:flex; align-items:center; justify-content:center; background:url(http://placehold.it/500x600/333/eee); box-shadow:0px 0px 10px rgba(0,0,0,.25); margin:10px; position:relative; overflow:hidden; [/newclass]
[newclass=.fg-circ] width:250px; height:250px; position:absolute; background-color:rgba(255,255,255,.25); z-index:1; transform:rotate(45deg) scale(1); transition:.5s ease; transition-delay:1s; [/newclass]
[newclass=.fg-box:hover .fg-circ] transform:rotate(45deg) scale(0); transition:.5s ease; [/newclass]
[newclass=.fg-post] position:absolute; top:600px; z-index:2; background-color:rgba(0,0,0,.85); width:calc(100%); height:calc(100%); padding:0px; transition:.5s ease; text-align:justify; color:#999; transition-delay:.5s; [/newclass]
[newclass=.fg-box:hover .fg-post] top:0px; transition:.5s ease; transition-delay:.5s; [/newclass]
[newclass=.fg-post b] font:700 13px roboto; color:var(--fg-accent); [/newclass]
[newclass=.fg-post i] border-bottom:1px solid var(--fg-accent); [/newclass]
[newclass=.fg-post a] display:block; text-align:center; color:var(--fg-accent); font:600 13px roboto!important; margin-top:25px; [/newclass]
[newclass=.fg-post div] margin:75px; font:400 13px roboto; text-align:justify; color:#bbb; transition:.25s ease; height:450px; overflow:auto; padding-right:10px; [/newclass]
[newclass=.fg-post div::-webkit-scrollbar] width:10px; border:0px; background-color:rgba(0,0,0,0)!important; [/newclass]
[newclass=.fg-post div::-webkit-scrollbar-thumb] background-color:var(--fg-accent); border:0px;[/newclass]
[newclass=.fg-post div::-webkit-scrollbar-track] background-color:rgba(0,0,0,0)!important; border:0px;[/newclass]
[newclass=.fg-lyrics] cursor:pointer; [/newclass]
[newclass=.fg-lyrics h1] margin:0px; font:700 35px/35px Playfair Display; text-transform:uppercase; display:flex; align-items:center; justify-content:center; color:#fafafa; text-shadow:1px 1px 2px rgba(0,0,0,.5); [/newclass]
[newclass=.fg-lyrics h2] margin:0px; width:220px; display:flex; align-items:center; justify-content:center; font:700 25px/25px playfair display; text-transform:uppercase; color:#fafafa; text-shadow:1px 1px 1px rgba(0,0,0,.5); [/newclass]
[newclass=.fg-lyrics h2:before] content:''; margin-right:10px; height:1px; background-color:#fafafa; flex-grow:1; box-shadow:1px 1px 1px rgba(0,0,0,.5); [/newclass]
[newclass=.fg-lyrics h2:after] content:''; margin-left:10px; height:1px; background-color:#fafafa; flex-grow:1; box-shadow:1px 1px 1px rgba(0,0,0,.5); [/newclass]
[newclass=.fg-lyrics h3] margin:0px; width:220px; display:flex; align-items:center; justify-content:center; text-transform:uppercase; font:400 82px/82px Libre Baskerville; color:#b00e0e; text-shadow:1px 1px 1px rgba(0,0,0,.5); [/newclass]
[newclass=.fg-lyrics h4] margin:0px; font:400 18px/18px Libre Baskerville; text-transform:uppercase; color:#b00e0e; text-shadow:1px 1px 1px rgba(0,0,0,.5); [/newclass]
[newclass=.fg-cred] margin-top:-10px; font:700 7px roboto; margin-left:425px; [/newclass]
[newclass=.fg-cred a] font:700 7px roboto; [/newclass]

[Jay]

XP Distribution:

Qiu'li: 55
305 + 55 = 360

Solomon Moon: 81
532 + 81 = 613