12th of Cylus 721
There were times in their relationship that Rakvald and Ildred needed their space. The past few seasons had been just such, with Rakvald rather forcibly transplanting his family from one city to the next, snatching them via dream travel or flutterbus, and bringing them all the way across the world. Ildred decided she'd had enough, and sent Rakvald packing out of Irorun Steading once they arrived back in Desnind. So it was, he had been cast out, and forced to live in the dog house. Quite literally.
He had decided to assume his Dubaebo totem, and let the poor creature stretch its legs. It'd been too long since he gave it room to run, and the noble beast gratefully howled at the moons at night, and chased through the forests at night. It was a fine way of getting some fresh air, and the peace of the forest did Rakvald some good, especially seeing as Ildred wasn't letting him back in the door to their Steading, in any form he took. And she knew all of his tricks, as it was.
No, Rakvald stalked the forests of Desnind, the outskirts, chasing small prey and trying his hand at hunting. He wasn't very good at it, even while possessing the form of a great hunter beast. His senses were in overdrive, more distracting for their keenness than informative. And the soft, tentacle limb that made up his left foreleg, often enough threw his running gait.
Still, he was able to bag a small rodent here, a little bird there. And bit by bit, pouncing on these small creatures, he was able to find sustenance. He discovered also the wonders of scavenging, of finding the remains of a greater hunter's prey, and feasting upon that. He carefully checked of course, that the beast that left the trophy was nowhere to be found, and then partook of its discarded flesh.
He was enjoying just such a meal, deep in the forests south of Desnind, when he heard a howling coming from the east, near where the streams and rivers ran through the landscape. Perking up, his ears flapping against his skull, the Dubaebo sniffed the air, his bleary eyes tracking the landscape for any sign of movement.
Rakvald's spines stood on end as the howl went up again. This time followed by the screaming of a man. Someone was in trouble!
The Dubaebo sprinted into action, leaving its meal and running through the brush to find the source of this horrific screaming. He leapt over fallen boughs, over boulders and around depressions in the earth. While he stumbled at times, barely able to keep pace with his strange gait, he did find himself getting closer to the source of the disturbance.
Until he arrived at a clearing, where there were two sev'ryn boys, one of them standing, the other getting his leg torn asunder by a Spulmokawarta! Rakvald snarled from the underbrush, catching the Spul's attention for a moment. The standing boy turned to look at the source of his snarl, and held his hands up in fear. He muttered something in Xanthean, a fearful cry.
The Spul, angry at this intrusion to its kill-in-progress, relinquished its hold on the lamed sev'ryn boy. Thus freed, the one that was left standing helped his fellow to his feet, and guided him away from the clearing, shouting that they had to get back to this place... which roughly translated sounded like "House of Rivers" to the Dubaebo's ears.
Rakvald didn't know any house of rivers, or anything about civilization in these parts. He only saw two lads in trouble, and a monster harassing them. He had to help!
So without delay, he charged after the Spul, and they collided mid sprint, each snapping and clawing and flopping, one over the other as they fought. Rakvald used his superior strength to leverage advantageous positioning against the relatively small Spulmokawarta, and then sank his teeth into its flesh, getting a mouthful of bony spur-like protrusions which hurt his gums. He snarled and yelped, but held fast, digging his sharpened fangs deeper into its flesh. As the Spulmokawarta's tongues wrapped themselves around his neck, it took took a bite of Rakvald. Into his right forearm. So they were locked in a deadly battle, each one threatening to tear the life out of the others through their mighty jaws.
But then, something awakened in Rakvald. A technique he'd yet to discover. He felt the ether of the creature's lifeforce, informed by his powers of graft and becoming, and also the etherism of his transmutation magics. The odd amalgam of sparks that existed in his soul informed him of the discovery of this new technique, this 'feeding', and began draining the life force directly out of the Spulmokawarta, turning it into ether with which to begin healing the wounds it was inflicting.
As he sucked in the lifeforce, the smaller creature's flesh weakened before his jaws, and before long was caving in, torn asunder by his gnashing. The Spulmokawarta, defeated and on the verge of destruction, did not relent in its own assault, but nearly broke its faltering teeth upon the bones of Rakvald.
Rakvald pushed it over, and with one final lunge, began gnashing his teeth through the creature's belly, it's soft underside, and drained what was left of its lifeforce. Thus destroying the creature, yet rendering it incapable of being turned into a totem at the same time, he limped away, and began channelling the stolen lifeforce, the ether, to heal the gnarled wounds that the Spulmokawarta's mandibles had torn through his right foreleg.
The wound felt strange, like there were many tiny lifeforces, all vying for a taste of his flesh. It was more than a bite, it would become diseased, and might've taken his leg if he wasn't as skilled in Graft and healing as he was. Soon enough, he used his knowledge of his own physiology as well as the enervations running through him, powered by that excess ether, to close the wound, and began to expel the disease from his flesh.
This done, but still hurt and pained by the bite, he began limping off, to find the lads that had escaped the Spulmokawarta's wrath.
As expected, they didn't get very far before the Dubaebo crossed paths with them. The lad that was healthy, and unbitten, had been supporting his friend much of the way away from the battle. Yet it was a struggle he was losing, to keep his friend upright. When he heard the footpads of the Dubaebo on the ground behind him, he wheeled around, letting his friend crumple to the ground beside him. The lad went into some sort of martial arts defensive stance, and put on a fierce look that might've been terror or determination, for all Rakvald could determine. He didn't think the lad had the gall to face down the terrible fangs of the Dubaebo, though, not after what his friend had suffered...
Rakvald closed his glowing, milky green eyes, and concentrated. He dredged up the voice of his Gestalt Lotharro and Mer voice, a gravely and deep tone that might put the person at ease. Or might terrify him into unconsciousness. Either way, it'd give Rakvald a fair path to the injured lad, to help him with his leg.
"Wait, boy. Let me help. I can heal your friend."
The lad, confused at first, responded in Xanthean, and then in common, "You... can talk? What are you?"
"I'm the only one within miles who has the ability to heal your friend. Now, will you step aside?" Rakvald kindly but sternly asked.
The lad, his jaw tightened. His teeth chattered, but eventually he bowed and stepped aside for the Dubaebo to pass him by. Rakvald could sense the rawness of the wound, even as he approached. The festering meat and flesh and blood curdled with thousands of little bugs and the essence of disease. It would be a challenge to heal him, yet one he would undertake.
"Find some mint leaves in the nearby foilage, I can smell them. And put a reed between your friend's teeth" The Dubaebo asked the friend. Although they might help, he didn't really need them. He just needed the lad out of his hair so he could do his magic. Add to that the fact that the lad might like to feel useful while he waits for his friend to receive the help he needs.
The Dubaebo placed his tentacled foreleg on the wound, at which the lad groaned, insensate at the pain of it all, and probed the enervations running through his body. It was bad, his wound. He would have to reduce it before he could build it back up. It was a good thing he'd sent the lad's friend away, he wouldn't like what would come next...
Rakvald's tentacle foreleg began probing the wound, reducing it, the diseased flesh melting away. He didn't have time to dull the pain, but at least the lad in the intervening moments had the sense to place a reed between his teeth, so he didn't chip them when the pain began to flare up.
The flesh melted away, pouring down the leg, revealing muscle, grisle, fat and bone. It smelled foul as it sloughed off, but soon Rakvald began building upon the healthy tissue. By the time the lad had returned with some mint leaf, Rakvald was almost done forming a new layer of flesh from the bone. The Dubaebo's brow furrowed as he concentrated, willing the healthy skin to grow, and cover this new wound, until it sealed up. Then, the job was done.
Rakvald let out a sigh of relief.
The lads, grateful for the Dubaebo's aid, yet bemused by the magical creature's appearance at their darkest hour, invited him to stay at the House of Rivers, their master's school of martial arts. Having no place to sleep himself, the Dubaebo reluctantly agreed, and guarded them on the rest of their way to the school
