Exovaryn Haruke: Aggression Spike

Axanth heard something as he succumbed to the fate, which was to befall him. A voice, nary but a whisper of shadow to his unconscious state of awareness. A low tenor, as what was perhaps the skittering claws of many afoul beast amidst the darkness, leaving the area. Skittering elsewhere, as if fleeing from something.

Something the boy was certain to feel even in his unconscious state. The ever present looming taint of blackness. The bittersweet sensation of darkness closing in. Occultic power flickering, in and out of his dwindling sense of awareness. His body registering the sensation, even as it succumbed to a state of near death.

Coldness approached, as his form seemed to still. Slowly dying. But what was this, his chest still drew even a smidgeon of breath. Rising and falling ever so faint. Surely it was naught but a trick of the moonlight shining upon his torn, chest. Riddled with cuts. Scraps of clothing barely hanging onto the teen's frame. Yet, the chest rose once more. Visible through the torn clothing.

Perhaps, it was simply the power around the boy. The power and frame that hung above. Watching, waiting. Assessing. The wounded and near dead teen would never know, but even in its state of unconsciousness, what slipped from his lips was a ragged moan.

Why? Perhaps the teen in someway refused to die. Maybe something lurked within his heart. Growing and festering.

Maybe the real teen that was Axanth had died, soul moving on to Avalon? Whatever the case, something moaned, moved his being. His eyes snapping open. Perhaps an unconscious act, steel eyes gazed at looming darkness. Did it gaze back? Letting loose a deeper raged breath, a mouth opened.

"cH-helpc" Was what was dribbled from bloodied lips, a slow drip of blood slipped from the teen's mouth, dripping down his chin. As his hair clung, sticky with sweat, blood an dirt.. Clinging to the nape of his neck. Strands of bloodied white sticking to thin pale cheeks.

The eyes closed, as the teen slipped into a deep state of unconsciousness. Ragged breathing, slowing to a wheeze. Rattling breaths, escaping blood coated lips. As a chest swelled and lowered. Whilst overhead, loomed a black shadow. Brimming with power, holding within its hands, a chance to save and let life live or leave the life here to die.
(Axanth Ynervai)

 "In this world of sinners, blighted by the blind that claim heroes of the Light, we find ourselves intertwined by the struggles they bestow upon us. They torment us with their hunts, and they force us to endure hardship through their acts of genocide. They exterminate us, ostracize us, and leave us to dwell in the deepest and darkest corners of their society... They aim to purge us like insects..." He glared down upon Axanth with an irritated glare.

"This is a fate I see cursed upon you, but it is not one to be settled without equivalent exchange." He finished, rather than damning the child to what seemed to be a certain demise. "The Gods of Fate have blessed you with this coincidence, with the happening of our encounter. An encounter in which I'd find you here, having realized the suffering Valmasians can rest upon those of our ilk." He closed in further, raising arms to aim emptied palms towards a body at rest to capture it within the seemingly telekinetic hold that was Exovaryn's own.

"Now, if you're not dead yet.. Perhaps I could make use of you... Assuming aiding you isn't a total waste of my time..."The boy's body was rested over the Harukean's right shoulder, and allowed to rest there as he hovered away, heading north for an exit, a change of scenery to further analyze and aid the nigh cadaver in the recovery process.

"I'm sure there are supplies to sustain you within the small outpost nearby."
(Exovaryn "Voss" Haruke)

Axanth Ynervai: (Hurry up boy.)
[18:00:32] With a small exodus of cloaked entities migrating their masses northbound from the Trystle caverns. Alas, their numbers come to a halt, upon intercepting with the sparse amalgamation of alienated travelers, joining in on the numbers. Likely those whom heralded the growing faith to other portions of the religion, but the number of followers was still minuscule in comparison to its superior competition.

"My brethren, today, we take the first step in Independence from the land that subjugates us beneath its wrath and torment. Today, we sought out liberation, in the form of new land. A land that will be bestowed by own numbers and governed by our law.. One that shall leave us relinquished from the torment that is here, and laden with opportunities to claim for ourselves." The Harukean turned for the northern shores, dragging a finger out for the ocean-met horizon before them all.

"It will require distances and setting unknown, but the journey will not be without reward. The works of each individual will be The body was laid to rest, upon sodden soils, glistened with the muddied ooze that crept up his outline, wielding him within its sunken silhouette within the soiled grasses. The Harukean looked down at what he'd suspect to be a teenager within his age range, dwindling closer to the state of death.

There was no rush in his efforts to save this individual, having faith that the Gods of Fate he believed in would justify his future intent with the longevity of this personage's life-force.

(Exovaryn "Voss" Haruke)

The Harukean turned away from the nigh cadaver to face the small campsite he had his eyes settled upon prior. It was one he had suspected to harbor supplies he could use. One of simple merchantry settling down prior to continuing their trek for the eastern regions. A distance that would likely take days to cover, without magus aid-- A critical mistake with consequence administrated by Voss himself.

"In the name of equivalent exchange, I claim what is of this site to ensure the survival of another." He proclaimed upon walking in, greeted with defensive individuals that wandered betwixt himself and the tents fixed up.

Mercenary: I'm sorry but I can't let you step any closer.
Exovaryn: And I'm sorry that the request of a nonbeliever is, invalid... A faceless force pulsated from the Harukean body midst his stride, striking the individual with force akin to a full throttled fist to the visage, cocking his head back and stammering him where he stood, eventually allowing his recoil to evolve into a tumble upon his backside.

Mercenary Leader: Take 'em down, men!

Without a moment's delay, armored men in swords took their stances, popping up from all corners to blindside the Harukean, seemingly unarmed with any weapon aside from one concealed within the scabbard on his left leg. Against curved swords, scimitars and broadswords, what looked like a dagger hidden upon the Harukean's possession was far from threatening. The trump card in his favor, was that of the magical prowess he had displayed just moments prior.

"Your mistake was falling victim to your own assumption that you had even the most minuscule of chances against me." The Harukean grumbled in response, earning the sprinting attendance of six, to one. An audience that applauded him with their footfall, and cheered only with battle-cries in unison. The song of their blades swatted through the air was the symphony that possessed him, an ensemble with a masterpiece he wasn't particularly interested in relishing for the moment.
(Exovaryn "Voss" Haruke)

It was in the heat of the moment, that he came to realize a sensation correlative the the scenario. The tingling feeling that manifested from within, growing stronger as the risk of imposed malignant intent grew inevitable: Fear? No, Anxiousness, Anticipation... He wanted to see them parade... Was it a byproduct of the allotted time festering the miasma of his own malignant intent incarnated into a smothering aura, bombarding his surroundings with the translucent essence that was magical corruption: Depravity.

One's left hand flicked at the scabbard's latch, fondling a hilt with seconds to ensnare it in his grasp. A swift tug unveiled the gleam of silver-metal shimmering against the sunlight's rays for only a moment, prior to vanishing in a horizontal launch into the chestal region of a distant warrior, charging to meet his ranks. Gravitational manipulation directed the blade with further precision, and force proved dramatized by the occult forces that backed up the magic already at work.

The impact locked movement, allowing legs and arms to move with initial force, but chest to betray them in motion. In a moment of intensified focus, the body was dropped in slow-motion, crashing against the muddy soils and splattering about the scene. The suspended droplets of pungent mud and slime seemed to hover by the Harukean's eyes, sliding across his peripheral vision to effectively switch unto another opponent: Another target.

Adrenaline and newborn battle-lust had transformed the formerly lawful Harukean, succumbing to what was typically known as Occult Madness, despite maintaining the sanity he original upheld thanks to presences that even he lacked sufficient knowledge of. He didn't care...
What did matter was this moment, and the next.
(Exovaryn "Voss" Haruke)

In a nigh blur, he materialized before the second of six, a hand already reaching out to fend off a weapon wielding arm via wrist locking. Inverted eyes glared into that of his adversary, revealed from beneath his hood, beckoning a gasp of surprise from the mercenary.

Mercenary #2: Wh- What are you?

A cosmic powered fist, tainted by the abyssal powers birthed by Occultism's meddling piloted into the personage's abdomen, penetrating faster than the indentation process, effectively piercing knuckles through skin and flesh to crackle against bone, impaling his human counterpart with a single strike, reducing the opponents he combated against to mere fodder. Gravity Adeptness allowed one to exercise aerobatics beyond his typical limitations, pulling his body over to plant legs beside the impaled area to leap off the body, kicking the dying away as he rammed into his third victim, dropping him with a blitz. With the man dropped, gravity and momentum worked with him to roll off, reaching forward towards the fallen victim of his dagger launch to telekinetic-ally pry at the blade to meet his grasp once more. As though possessed in a hypersensitive berserk mode, the blade that soared for his hand was clutched and quickly slashed on his rebound. A pivot for his opponent was met with an attempt to gut before realizing the presence of opponents.

To his luck, the blade's edge found the flesh of another mercenary just moment's away from unleashing the lethality of his overdrawn broadsword, overhand, yet failing to plunge into the skull of the Harukean in time. Magus strength empowered by Cosmic energies and the Occult arcane enacted upon said powers akin to an amplifier, allowed the Harukean to continue a solid dragging motion, ripping apart cheap armor down to the end of one's physicality. The opposing right arm thrust-ed open-palm into the unaffected chest of the afflicted man, propelling him through the air with a gravitational push, allowing him to join the vanquished ranks to slowly suffer termination in the vitality siphoning agony.

The formerly tackled man, began his ascent from temporary incapacitation, albeit simply not fast enough from a hyped Voss whom already appeared before him, with risen leg. The drop of his boot was conjoined with a triad of all of his affinities, reducing a solid skull into a sanguine stain in the mud. To Voss, an ant by comparison...
(Exovaryn "Voss" Haruke)

The Mercenary leader charged in for Voss' right-side, outright shouting with his sprint, met with the liquid-smooth pivot of Exovaryn's neck to allow his eyes to fall upon the man. A curved blade was held up for the air, prepared to engage in the fight of his li-

Nothing... He froze. There was no further advancement, for legs lost their touch to the ground. The gurgling of one's gullet, murmuring naught but tenor blurbs, incoherent to all others that knew not the lingual tactics of suffering and despair. The blade dropped for the grasses, and gagging incremented in volume, spouting syllables with every fiber in his body straining for a gasp of breath. Exovaryn had his right arm reached out for the Mercenary leader, clutching fingers yet lacking strangulating contact. The victim's hands clutched for his neck in efforts to relinquish the metaphysical forces from his vessel to no avail. In time, the pressure incremented, collapsing the esophagus and sizzling at the spinal columns under gargantuan strain...
It only took another
*CRACK*
A snapped neck proved sufficient for the Harukean's endeavor, dropping the body from his hold and slowly turning to the final mercenary whom quivered in place, petrified of what he had bared witness to.
"If you wish to live... You will use your medical knowledge to heal that one, over there.." Exovaryn instructed, pointing a finger over to the fallen Axanth.

...It wouldn't take much more time than that before the individual sprinted off into the camp's largest tent for supplies, returning from it, without the slightest bit of organization in rush to aid Axanth for the sake of his own life...
(Exovaryn "Voss" Haruke)

Nimble shaking fingers prodded at the torn, and ripped clothing. Ragged breathing assaulting the ears of the teen. Torn fabric having been ripped away from a bloodied chest, slick with drying blood. The redness covering along a thin malnourished chest, bones visible underneath skin. Not piercing through, yet pushing visibly against it. Clearly a sign of malnutrition and starvation.

The teen form of Axanth, was lifted from the soggy ground, placed upon a nearby blanket, rolled out by the mercenary. The paltry state of the teen, resembled that of a cadaver. Yet not exactly in fullness. For a chest rose, raspy breathing was prominent within the sudden silence of the clearing. Coming from the form of Axanth.

The mercenary worked, constantly shaking. Taking medical bandages, herbs and spices, stitches. Alongside a pestle and mortar from the nearby placed supplies, which seemed to be strewn across the ground, haphazardly? It was clear as to why, the man, in his panic had after all not bothered to have the supplies be placed in an organized manner, too afraid of the Harukean. Hands reached for the spices and herbs. Placing them softly within the pestle.

No sound being made, save the swishing noise of herbs hitting the bottom of the bowl. A faint rustling s the various herbs and spices, as well as some blood moss hit the bottom of the bowl. With eyes wide in terror the mercenary, rose a hand, holding the pestle, within a shaky grip, other hand arising to hold the mortar. Lowering it into the bowl, as it began to grind the various herbs. The sound made was that of a soft crunch, before the man began to mix the finely grinded herbs.

Turning the insides of the pestle greenish, filled with a goop of medical paste. Reaching into the bag of supplies, the mercenary, pulled free a thin wooden spoon. Dipping the flat side of the end into the pestle.

Raising the now coated underside, the man began to lather the gunk onto the teen. Making sure to focus the intensity of the healing efforts onto the bleeding cuts the boy was riddled with. The mixture of paste should hopefully end the bleeding.

Dipping the spoon back into the bowl, and having finished lathering the chest in green healing paste. It was time to focus upon the teens arms, then legs. Lowering the pestle, the man gulped in fear as he looked to the Harukean, returning to his work.

Before he did so however, he grasped the roll of medical bandages. Silently, unrolling a bit of them an tearing away several strips. Before dressing the paste along the teens skin. Thankfully the blood had stopped. Well the worst of it any rate.

Placing the roll to the side, the male, quickly picked up the pestle, and gripped the handle. Starting to slowly dip the underside back into the mixture, before stopping. It wouldn't do, to get the teen suffering infections. What if the Harukean killed him as a result. Giving a whimper the male quickly searched the bag. Pulling out another wooden spoon. How lucky!

Now able to properly administer the rest of the paste, the mercenary did so. Raking the flat underside of the spoon gently over the wounds. Paste quickly filled the wounded arms, the blood quickly stopping. The cuts upon the teens arms, weren't as heavily loosing blood it seemed.

Sighing in slight relief the male mercenary reach for the roll of bandages, quickly dressing the paste coated wounds. Tying hard knots against the skin of the teen's arms. To hopefully stop the wounds from re-opening. Looking at the roll of bandages and almost out anything usable, the mercenary slightly panicked. Before recollecting the stitches.

(Axanth Ynervai)

Reaching for the stitches and what little of the paste remained, he set to work. Quickly tearing away the ruined fabric of the teen's pants. Faded fabric tearing easily, in the mercenaries meaty grip.

Shaking slightly with stress as he tried to ignore the ever present feeling of death staring at his back. The mercenary started to plce paste upon the legs visible. Various cuts below the knee clearly visible. Some thin, others large.

Quickly finishing the male, began to hold the stitches, shaking from more fear. One needle and thread, being the first of three stitches. It seemed the teen only had three major cuts along his legs, the others could be left alone.

Quickly sticking the needle, through one side of skin, an then through the other across, tugging it closed with slight jerk, as the mercenary repeated the process along the cut.

With a final tug, the paste covered wound was shut tight. Skin meeting skin, as the mercenary laughed in relief, slightly nervous about botching up the stitching. Quickly repeating the process for the other two cuts.

Having done all he could, for the teen looking cadaver form of Axanth. The mercenary stammered "T-that's all I can do. It's up to him to survive." Slowly with trembling legs the mercenary attempted to flee, quickly running to life afraid of the cloaked magi behind him. Starting to scream in terror. The noise caused the wounded teen to groan, eyes stating to open blearily.

(Axanth Ynervai)

The man was allowed the freedom to sprint away, given not the slightest bit of attention as the distance between himself and the two had grown. He had completed his end of the bargain, which was enough for the Harukean. Satisfied, Exovaryn approached the fallen, gazing down upon him with empty hues, attempting to read what appeared to be a limp figure. Perhaps he had been spared? Or he had simply wasted time. Regardless, he made the attempt and could only leave it to time to unveil what was...

"In time, you'll awake... When such time arises..." The Harukean began to hover, voice spoken over Axanth, as though one were conscious enough to comprehend him. "We will meet again... Perhaps I'll find out then, if you were worth the effort... The lives of five, to spare one... Let's see how equal such exchange has proven to be..." The figure turned away, ascending for the skies. A lean provided direction to his acceleration, soon blasting off into the horizon with a jolt of occultistic energies hammering into the conjoined essence that was Cosmic and Gravity magics in union...
(Exovaryn "Voss" Haruke)