babline snaps a spine
- [00:42] It was a long trek, particularly alone and with a set of shattered ribs, but he'd made it. Not all the way to Sotiria's now-exorcised tomb, the scattered presence of lesser demons informed him enough that the occultic energy seeped into the soul there- while fading, with the removal of the shard- was certainly still attracting esshar's lesser spawn, and he was in no condition to fight off more than stragglers.
- Still, the tomb wasn't his goal, simply the forest around it.
- Truthfully, he'd not felt the same compulsion to purge the forest as he had when following the spirits before- there was no hand tugging at his actions. But.. to be a druid, did you truly need your hand held by the beings you acted for? The forest was clearly sickly, the animals, magimals, and Daemons alike all either devoured by the writhing demon hoards, or driven off by the state of the land they skulked through.
- For now, though, he was alone in this patch of clearing.
- With a look to the barely healed line across his palm, a memento from his first meeting with the spirit, Cameo's words echo in his mind.
- "Less things corruption the world, theeeeeee better. Blood helps to soothe what's kicked up, but better to take care of it first."
- Slowly, he removes the Babline shard from his pocket, running his finger over the smooth surface. A soft pink stain still tarnishes the jagged edge, as much a memento as his own wound.
- With a gentle yet decisive movement, the shard crosses the wound and it reopens once again, blood pooling at the center of his palm.
- In a single motion, his hand is pressed against the soil and Miran just... stops. Closes his eyes, slows his breathing, and waits.
- He sits there, blood soaking into the ground, for moments that stretch on like eons, until-
- A low growl echoes its way out of the undergrowth, along with the distinctive sounds of steeled claws upon forest detritus.
- With his free hand, miran reaches for the dagger at his side, thumb hitting the rune to extend the blade, and his muscles tense for combat. His ribs groan in protest, but are summarily ignored.
- With a swift tug, his blade is freed, and torso twisted, angling to strike at the monster but-
- A single noise, echoing out from the bushes, and all Miran sees is the Demon drop, neck snapped and skull bloodied from blunt force.
- His shocked gaze meets only the skittish eyes of a Babline, as it's vine whip retracts and it turns, hobbling off into the undergrowth.
- The first sign of new life.
- (Miran Tsuchai)
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