Lonesome Gods

[Sal Katarn]

Six years ago...

The acrid smoke of the downed ship still lingered in his flaring nostrils as he sprinted through the jungle. The thick underbrush clogged his path with vines and bushes and massive leaves. A broken ankle could mean death here, but he did not slow his pace. What chased him was worse than death.

The stifling humidity sought to smother him, drown him. Sweat drenched his shirt, cascaded down his forehead, off his nose; made long, unkempt hair slick with bodily oils. A layer of grime coated him, a mixture of blood and dirt.

Dimming light filtered through the canopy above. The onset of twilight.

Distance, thought the runner. Distance between himself and the crash. Distance from the hunters.

Around him, the jungle bristled with life. Dozens of eyes watched him pass, setting his skin crawling. A brown shape blurred overhead, settling on a low branch ten meters in front of him. Sharp talons dug into the wood, gripping tight. A wickedly curved beak opened with a shrill shriek.

The runner felt relief ease his worry.

"Ka," he spoke in his mind, for the Shrike listened. "What is it?"

The bird shrieked again.

A chill swept through the runner's heart, froze the blood in his veins and sent beads of cold sweat running in rivulets down his back.

An invisible shape slammed into him, sent him stumbling. Thorns tore into the flesh of his thigh. Blood squirted out, hot and red.

Pain.

A creature loomed over him, form shimmering into existence. A four-legged beast with crimson skin and over-sized fangs that jutted from a too-small maw. The predator put a forepaw on his chest and pushed him to the soil, claws slick with his lifeblood. It opened its jaw and leaned forward for the kill.

Ka swooped from above, talons raking the back of its head in shallow furrows. The beast roared, turning toward the fleeing bird.

The runner became the fighter, bared canines of his own. He groped at a rock with his right hand, seized it, fingers curling tight around the moist, hard surface. The fighter slammed the rock into the beast's skull. Once. Twice. It reared back, yelping, slashing at him with a forepaw.

More blood. More pain.

The fighter grappled with the beast and together they fell into the dense vegetation.

* * *​

A crackling fire blazed in the depths of the Demon Moon's jungles. The only source of warmth in the night, as cold as the day was hot.

Spitted over the fire was the crimson beast, skinned of its hide and dripping fat that sizzled when it touched the fire. Deprived of all limbs and a head. The skull sat against the stones ensconcing the fire, grinning up at the body.

The fighter sat before the flames, features cast in a shadowed glow. The bones of the creature lay at his feet. Across his lap lay the radius, one end crudely sharpened into a point. He felt more eyes upon him, could see them prowling in the dark, wary of the fire.

He looked up at a tree, found Ka sitting there.

"They would have come by now," he said, finding comfort in the sound of a sapient voice in this world of clicks, caws and cries. "If they were coming at all."

They probably presumed him dead in the crash. Too risky to investigate further. Not on Dxun. Not on the Demon Moon. He smiled into the flames, a feral grin. They should have known better. Sal Katarn does not die easy.

[member="Quietus"]

 

[Quietus]

Less and less the jungles of the Demon Moon had seen the presence of the Beastia, but more and more did she often yearn to return to their depths. While Onderon had its wilds their nature to the woman who called the planet home and kingdom was found to be rather tame - for her. Exposure to humans made the beasts predictable and what was for the normal person a harrowing challenge of life and death had become routine for the Queen of the Wilds.

But Dxun ... that was another realm entirely. The origin of the worst monsters to come planetside, here they roamed free and unbridled in any form. Here they matched an unrestricted level of savage and instinct that even the condemned spirits of Chaos might stutter at. So, finally, it was here that Quietus brought her latest pupil to test the knowledge and skills learned over the last several months. To survive at any cost: was the young Ibaris ready or would she be forced to send the girl home to her parents in ribbons and pieces?

They'd been spending the daylight hours catching some rest high up in the boughs of a massive elder jungle tree, settled within the cusp of adjoining branches suspended by thick vines several hundred feet up when the commotion of the crash on the horizon sent the entire canopy into a shiver of activity. Quick to move, to inspect, they found the site empty and curiously missing any form of pilot.

But there had been signs that the Master tracker picked up. The scent of blood and sweat and fear, the minute traces of unsettled soil, the quiver of intrigue felt within the trees.

Track him, she told the girl, he won't get very far.

 

[Ibaris Varanin]

The months with the Beastia wore on, with an utter lack of ease in comparison to all the years of her life up until this point, and she bore it all with little complaint. Her coming to be under the tutelage of the Beastia was on better terms, with a clearer head and stability of emotion than the first time many months prior that had lead to her being kidnapped by a man that had a bone to pick with her parents. Coming to terms with that experience and what she did with it was a boon to her will to survive, more than by the skin of her teeth alone; a boon to the rapport between herself and that farmboy, and the farmboy and her dog. That dog, Adas, had been left in the company of the farmboy, Liam, with whom she had left the Peregrine, as there was no point in keeping it parked in the spaceport at Iziz - she had yet to learn to fly the thing. It would be of better use in support of the endeavors of her friends, which she shared in.

All of which seemed galaxies away, when immersed in, focused on the here and now. When the pair came upon the wreck, she drank in details: the whiff of salt and bled iron to which she had become accustomed, though minutely detectable by her nose; the erratic tread impressions marking the fading in-and-out path of their quarry; the singling out of that quarry out amongst the many threads of life that grew and crawled across the surface of Dxun without her budging an inch, that while the most familiar method was still no more reliable than the others in this jungle that buzzed quite loudly in the Force. Together, though...

Yes, Beastia, came the reply.

The movements of the wreck's pilot were not the only thing she had to be aware of, as she knelt to examine the faint disturbances in the soil, marred by the overlay of other tracks. The imprints of boot treads would require more attention to separate their trail from the tracks of the local wildlife, and she began to follow them with that in mind. More details began to emerge that indicated the movements of a kind of dance - one of struggle. She looked up from the tracks to sniff and taste the air again, then back to the tracks, scrutinizing the jumble of markings with a careful eye.

Maalraas.

She had studied the multitude of beasts that inhabited the planets of the galaxy from the time she had learned to read, for as long as, if not longer than the Barkspawn had been her companion; she had begun observing them in their habitats them less than two years ago. This might be the first time she would see the creature of red skin and scale outside of the academic end of her studies. Her mouth quirked at the left corner - the pilot wasn't the only one that had bled.

He's not weak, this one.

The trail continued, and so she continued to follow, ever mindful of the wilderness around her, ever seeking further information.

[member="Quietus"] | [member="Sal Katarn"]​

 

[Sal Katarn]

Sal peeled a strip of meat away from the cooked beast and lowered it into his mouth. Chewing sent the hot juices spilling out across his tongue. Sal closed his eyes and savored the taste for a moment. A full belly was likely the only bit of satisfaction he'd get on the Demon Moon. And frankly, he was surprised he had managed that much.

The drifter reached for another piece, then paused with a frown.

The jungle was silent.

Slowly, he reached for a Maalraas bone at his feet.

Jungles didn't go quiet unless the critters get scared. Which begged the question: what could scare the denizens of the Demon Moon?

Sal didn't expect he'd like the answer.

[member="Ibaris Varanin"] | [member="Quietus"]