Tristan is rather surprised to find out that Vulkest is so near, his chance to find a Guardian so near. Tristan got up, walking over to his horse as his head spun, laying himself down on a somewhat comfortable patch as he stared up at the stars while his mind raced. This could be his chance, one in a lifetime, a chance that, if true, he could not pass up. This could all be fake, of course. Atauri and Viktor and Spyra all lying or exaggerating or gripped by delusion, but if not, if this is all true and Tristan lets this moment slip through his claws, he could never forgive himself. A chance at freedom, true freedom, was worth any price. Any at all.
The vulpine knight would wait until everyone either had fallen asleep or become distracted, and then he made his move. He pulled himself up, back onto his feet, and quietly slipped off into the forests. What he is about to do is a gamble, a terrible risk, but, as stated before, true freedom is worth any price. Any price at all. The knight pushes into the forests, listening, smelling, feeling the pulse of life all around him, sinking his mind into instincts he has not indulged in a very long time, until he finally catches the scent. The scent of prey. And his throat throbbed.
And he soon found them. Bandits. Hated scum that no one will miss. Perfect prey.
There was a group of them, five standing or sitting around a fire, each one of them dividing their time between keeping watch and swilling away whatever food or booze they murdered others to take. A few were anthros, a fox and wolf and cat, while the others were human. Not that it mattered. They were all prey now. But Tristan cannot take them all on, not right now. He just needs one to separate from the herd, and then the others would be no challenge. There is a prayer for just such an occasion, a little bit of mind control, but Tristan would much rather not call upon the power of his old master. He will have to do this the old fashioned way, quietly and patiently, but he will soon get his chance eventually. And soon enough, the wolf rose and stepped away from the others, and Tristan moves in for the kill.
It has been too long since he did this, since he hunted, but the old techniques soon return to him. Moving quietly, silently, disturbing not a thing as he draws close, so close that he can almost taste the wolf's musk in the air, only the sound of a gentle stream the only thing that Tristan focuses on, before, in one quick motion, the wolf is grabbed from behind, hand over mouth grappling the wolf to the ground. And then, almost without thought, Tristan brought his muzzle to the wolf's neck before sinking his fangs into his flesh.
Blood. Warm, rich blood filled his mouth, the taste and feel of it almost eye-watering. A part of him, a small part, cried out for him to stop, to resist, that the freedom he craves is not worth this atrocity. But, with one gulp, the voice was gone. With another, energy pulsed through his body. And with every mouthful after, Tristan grew stronger and stronger, the power he once commanded now slowly returning to him; his muscles expanding and his strength doubling, clutching the wolf so tight that he was crushing him. Not that the wolf resisted. He just lay there, dazed and lost, a mere shell serving no purpose than to skate Tristan's thirst.
Only once Tristan had sapped the wolf of every drop did he finally get go, a vaguely wolf-shaped sack of meat and bone dropping to the forest floor, Tristan gasping for breath as he doubling over, energy runing through his body, a powerful mix of pleasure and pain coursing through every inch of him. Then, wit sudden burst of excruciating pain, Tristan ripped his armor from his torso before the pain became so great as to force him to howl to the top of his lungs, pain originating from his back. And he knew what it was before he even saw looked.
His wings. An old gift given to him from his old master, the Defiler. And Tristan had many gifts from his master, but none so meaningful as the Wings of the Dove, the holiest symbol of the twin Gods that there ever were.
Tristan panted on all fours, slowly pulling himself up after a time, standing on shaky legs as he looked to his wings, flexing him and feeling them for the first time since... since his downfall. It's a strange feeling, to have limbs back that were lost a long time ago, but just feeling the wing run through his feathers brought back all those years of experience with them. Some things you can never forget, not matter how hard you try to.
Suddenly, the rustling of the trees and the shouts of men would pull Tristan back to reality, realising the bandits have heard him and are now after him. His nerves steady, and his throat throbs angrily again, still not yet sated. He would feed until not a drop could be squeezed between them, and, perhaps, by taking their lives he might save others from harm. And with that thought, as the scum burst through the trees, Tristan rises himself up into the air with his wings before swooping down upon them, showing no mercy.
~~~
The vulpine finally returned to the stream, the one near camp, looking at the moon's light reflected in the water before looking up to see the great white moon shining big and brilliant in the dark clear night. Tristan was covered in blood, but that is why he is here, to wash it all away again. Just as he did mere hours ago, he pulled off his armor and striped himself naked, before stepping into the water until the river lapped at his waist
Tristan was bigger now, which is only truly noticeable when he is not wearing his armor. His muscles now broader, stronger, and more prominent; giving him an athletic look that he did not have before. Not to mention his wings, tall and strong, having a broad wingspan, coloured mostly black but each feather adorned with a delicate white tip, matching the colouring of his fur
Drawing water up into his hands, pouring it over his body, his arms and face and torso, the water started to turn a sinister dark red all around him, the river's current washing the red away downstream. And Tristan continued to wash himself until all traces of his sin were gone. Tristan even tasted the water, and it was better now. Much better. Sweet and fresh, so clean and pure that it was almost magical. Now with his hunger sated, all the beauty of the world is open to him again, the water feeling comfortably cool through his fur, the air sweetened with the smells of trees and flowers, the slight nip of the cool night's breeze fondling his fur. It's wonderful to feel this again, all the small pleasures he has been muted to that everyone else takes for granted, that his starvation had cost him but now he has it all back again.
Tristan could not help but enjoy this moment, closing his eyes and listening to the sounds of the forest and river and wind, soaking up the peace and levity and gentle stirrings of power now flowing through his body. If only all life could be like this.
Topic: The Coming Catastrophe: The Search For The Guardians.(We were a bunch of idiots! (Read 52282 times)