At the Lakeside (Kasoria)

[Qit'ria]

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Cylus 1st 719

Qit'ria walked along the Lake's edge, Caza snoozing against her chest with the baby cloth Faith had made for her. Qit'ria hadn't slept a single night since her return from Rynmere. She was trying to put the entire ordeal behind her, as best she could. She needed to be stronger, for Caza, for Faith. They were her family now. She needed to not be torn apart.

She thumbed at the necklace nestled above Caza's sleeping face. One knuckle bone was her own. One was Yeye's. She'd failed. He was dead, and all that was left was this totem of him she'd made. Tears filled her eyes as she went, now looking up at the moons of Cylus, her bear cloak wrapped around herself. She felt so lost. Desnind and Rynmere had destroyed what little she knew about her world. Her mother was a traitor. Maybe. She'd found no more clues as to her mother's involvement in the Mantis.

Her father was dead. She'd turned her back on the people of Desnind. She'd destroyed nearly every moral and ethic she'd cherished, in the name of saving family and then in revenge. The Mantis deserved to die, but Qit saw the faces of the innocents she'd killed as well. Especially that of the little girl. She'd killed a child. A little girl, just like the one Caza would grow up to be. Stolen her away from their family in order to gain a few more seconds of advantage ahead of her pursuers.

Qit'ria knew she needed to get out of this funk. She knew she could go talk to Faith, but she really didn't want to talk. To anyone. She wanted to just stop feeling this pain, this loss. To feel something good for once in a long while. She stopped at the Lake's edge, pulling Caza free from her baby holder. She wrapped the little girl up in her cloak, to protect from the cold, then slipped the vine bracelet around the little girl's arm, asking for it to keep her safe.

Vines grew out of it and leaves wrapped around the child, creating a natural baby basket. Qit'ria then shed her clothes, letting them fall in a pile next to Caza. The vines slid about the protective cradle like a host of snakes, ready to fend off any nosy would be attackers. Qit felt the Cylus chill over her body as she stepped into the water. Her muscles tensed at the cold, her form illuminated by the moons. The chill shook her to the core. She could feel her swordnosed dolphin inside her trying to come out. It wanted to swim, and so did she. She could warm herself with it, but she wanted to feel this cold, to feel this numbing.

A familiar scent was carried over the soft winds, picked up by her echoed bear sense of smell. Her elongated and twisted face turned to face him. She remembered him, from her last night in Rynmere. Feen's friend. She couldn't even remember his name. Or if he had a name for that matter. But she remembered his scent. It had been intoxicating that night. And she could sense it again, despite not yet seeing him.

[Kasoria]

He woke up to darkness, in the middle of the trial. But that was nothing to do with him. Just the seasons.

The chill woke the sleeper; stiff, sudden breath reeking of Northern wastes and falling ice tickling his face until his eyes snapped open. The man in the threadbare bed - old mattress, thin sheet, a lumpy pillow and a blanket that had apparently been a chew toy for some kind of mammal as one point - didn't wake with fluttering eyes or bleary, weary, sluggish movements. He'd had too many arcs packed with baseless fears and warranted dangers and the paranoia that filled the void between both, to allow himself the luxury of peaceful returns from the Emea.

Before his mind had fully grasped he was awake again, his hand was already gripping a weapon. Smaller than the other two under the bed. Perfect for keeping under the pillow, where his fingers could brush it, like a talisman of protection. The karambit hummed softly through his flesh, enchantment upon it humming into life upon his touch. The man swung upright and placed the charmed weapon on the bedside table. No noise. No shouts. No calls. No clang or cry of battle.

Kasoria was still by the lake, in the Days of Darkness, wondering what in the fuck he was doing there.

Waiting. Just like the trial before. And the trial before. And the trials-

"Yeah, yeah, yeah..."

He banished his own irritatingly logical thoughts by rubbing his hands across his head, then down his face... and finding no resistance to his fingers. No masses of hair or clumps of black fuzz. No beard or mane of grey-black. No curtain of the stuff in front of his eyes, long enough for a ponytail that could hang down his back like a stolen noose. No beard he could have stored a lunch in. Now there was nothing but rough skin with faded scars and a tiny little scrap of facial hair left.

Kasoria couldn't shave all of it. He had to have something. But he knew what the folks in Andaris City would be looking for. A woman, lithe and wild and flickering from woman to beast. A boy, bright-eyed but of evil intent. And a man, with enough hair to stuff a mattress. So he'd done his part in keeping them a little harder to track. And all it took was half a break with a straight razor and some scissors.

The assassin looked up and caught his dull reflection in the window glass. That's what he still was. A thousand leagues from home, his master dead, his story ended on the cobbles of Etzos... and what had he done mere trials after leaving that life behind? Killed on command. Because, really, why not? He shook his head and rubbed his face, slower than harder, as if the warming friction would wipe away the stupidity of what he'd done.

Kayled Wine was no king, but you killed him in the presence of one. That alone has doomed you. But his acolytes, his followers... there'll always be someone left, somewhere, who'll pay to see you dead.

Yeah, well, he thought by way of retort, rising to his feet and stretching his tired muscles, gotta fucking catch me first.

It wasn't just age that gnawed at him that morning. His forty-sixth trial, and he felt every season, but he had fresh complaints etched across his body. His injuries from the canal, when Vorund had died and Kasoria had took four crossbow bolts before getting tossed into the Southwood. Barely surviving that, the Black Guard had caught him. Well, that wasn't technically accurate. The "Cabal" had caught him. A bunch of wankers in robes and capes who thought they knew better than The Law, and Fucking Fates, did they hate Kasoria.

Not without reason.

He lowered his arms. A little better. Not by much. Stitches and patches of bruised, healing flesh still ached and bit at him. He still had a limp, from their escape from the castle... no, no that was from before. Back in the tunnels below Etzos. A man he never even knew died to get him out from the Cabal's dungeon. Tossed him through a portal and out he came in Andaris City, and then-

Morty's Cunt, fucking enough!

Kasoria muttered something soft and venomous in Ith'ession. He was tired of chasing around and around or numbering and fretting over every poor decision and turn of ill luck he'd endured the last... Fates, only three-score or so trials. His life had been changed, and would never change back, and so bloody what? The future was still there for him. He wasn't dead, he wasn't dying, and his son... his son was still safe. He knew it. He believed it.

He had to. But that thought more than any other send him crouching down, and retrieving something from under the bed. He felt the weight of it in his hands. Touched the cold metal and smooth wood. Ran his fingertips over the edges and tips and dimensions of it. From knob to haft to bite to head. The evil pick on the reverse and the leather strap on the bottom.

Kasoria smiled in the gloom. He'd pilfered another blade from their excursion to the palace, but this... this one made him smile. He was a killer, after all. He appreciated weapons. It reassured him, almost calmed him, just standing back up and hefting the war ax in hands well-sorted to wield it with deadly intent.

Birds called out from the darkness beyond the window. One of those queer breeds that was born used to the darkness, and functioned just as well in the trial-long gloom of Cylus as they did during the rest of the arc. The world was awake, and so was he. So what we he going to do with it?

Train. Like always.

He marched down the hall and trotted down the stairs and every open door got a peek from him, but nothing living was inside. Empty room and empty air. Kasoria sighed, yet the sound wasn't despairing. If he was lucky, he'd manage most of the trial without talking to her. But if he couldn't avoid it, well...

He'd survived worse.

It was impossible to know what time it was in Cylus. Unless you lived somewhere that kept it. Across the lake, visible from the front porch, he could see the thousand blazing torches of Rharne. Civilization, teeming masses, prosperity and learning and squalor and ignorance. Just like every other city he'd been to. But it was forbidden to them, like some invisible barrier was around it. Nowhere they might be known or recognized. Being a country away from Andaris City hardly mattered when you'd killed a man with powers like the Lord Inquisitor. Wars got started over that shit. Kasoria doubted the powers that be in Rharne would risk that if averting it was as simple as tossing their neighbor three ragamuffin murderers.

A sea, though... that might be enough. As he walked down from the porch, Kasoria traced the silver mass of the lake into the river off to one side. Saw in his mind's eye how it would through woods and towns and plains. Coming out to a port Qit'ria had told him about, a place called "Volta", named for the surging lightning that forever assailed it. A port with ships, and one would be going West, back home.

The wind struck him again. Hissing across his bare cheeks and through his short hair. Cold as Etzos cobbles; cold as the lost chambers of the Underground. But still, the silent little man smiled. Because it came from the West, and he fancied his son had shivered as it had made its way through Westguard. That same breeze, connecting father and son. Kasoria smiled a touch longer, then let the smile die.

She was out there, somewhere. He didn't know where, but she could be watching him right that moment. Well... so be it. He wouldn't be cooped up all this bloody time.

Kasoria kept marching down the hill, towards the lake and the woods surrounding it. There he'd find some obliging tree, and make it his enemy for his training. Notch it a few hundred times with his new weapon, and wile away the breaks until someone made a meal.

[Qit'ria]

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Something feral had awakened in Qit when that man's scent overtook her. She breathed it in deeply, feeling the direction it was coming from. The man was strong, she'd seen that first hand, but he had an air about him. A wild nature, just as much beast as he was man, if not more so. It reminded her of Caza's father. It had been so long since Qit had felt anything that she could smile about, anything worthwhile.

A small grin slipped over her face, for tonight, she hunted him.

She slipped from the water, picking up her clothes and domain bag, followed by her baby, holding a vine like a basket handle. She tossed her bumblebear cloak over her shoulders, pulling the hood up over her head, fastening the top most button. The rest of her clothes were stuffed into her domain bag. And so, she began to sniff deep, following the scent around the lake.

She prowled slowly, carefully. She was savoring this hunt, her baby fast asleep in the cradling vines. The grass didn't seem to notice, or perhaps not care about her footsteps. The wind curled around her crouched form as though she weren't there. She took a wide circuit with the scent, homing in on the source.

And then she heard it.

Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.

Metal on wood. Definitely not a pleasing sound to the huntress, but she stifled that annoyance down. She peered on distantly, seeing the man there, swinging an axe at a tree. He didn't look the same, but she knew his scent well. That was him. He'd trimmed his beard and hair. Shame, she liked the wild look better. Still, she could feel the strength of his being from here. And it stirred something deep within her. A yearning.

She found the largest tree that overlooked the man's training area, and tied child and domain bag to her back. She shifted her feet to those of the panther and adjusted the claws of her hands to those of the bear. She was careful with her climb, making sure to not pierce the bark so much as to make much noise. Slowly she rose, her fingers and toes straining as the bore the brunt of the weight, in such a slow progress. Once she was high above him, she laid softly upon a branch, becoming a shadow there, watching him train, a sly grin on her face.

She took in the scene for a long while, before raising back to a crouch, drawing a spear from her domain bag. She waited, watching, only moving each time he thunked the axe, using the sound as cover. The javelin was up, her balance maintained. She wouldn't be able to throw it too hard, only from the hips up, but that would be more than enough. She saw the swing start, so she threw. The javelin raced down towards Kasoria.

Thunk.

It pinned the axe to the tree, just as Kasoria's blade bit into the wood. A single leaf was falling from Qit's hiding place, as she and her baby were already on the move, bounding along the branches in the canopy, eastward, deeper into the copse.

[Kasoria]

"Oh, for... fuck's... sake!"

It was around the twentieth double-handed wrench that Kasoria realized one of the big downsides to wielding an ax. You always took the risk of burying it so deep that it was a complete bastard to get back out. Especially when it was something as unyielding as a three-feet-wide tree. He tried to slash and hack with just the edge of the blade, but for every slicing gouge made into the bark, another blow would thunk heavily into the trunk and then the weapon would be trapped. Can't really avoid it, he grumbled mentally as he yanked the ax out yet again. It's what they're made for. And flesh gives way much easier than wood.

Ax back in his hand, Kasoria prowled from side to side, staring at his ravaged target. The ax whirled and swung and spun in his hand. Tossed from side to side, and every now and then-

-he'd throw it up as if to ward away a blow, meeting a sword or club with a swing instead, hammering the blow away and then backhanding at the empty air-

Sometimes with the curved, biting head. Other times with pointed pick. He imagined the damage they could do. To limbs, and torsos, neck and armor. He spun on his heel and faced the tree again, ducking low as if avoiding a decapitating strike, darting forwards and swinging up-

SKRRRRRRKKK

That was what he was looking for! A ripping, tearing strike that would have opened up his enemy from balls to breast. He stopped the swing high above his head, picturing the doomed man falling back, clutching at his spilling guts-

-brought the weapon down again with a feral yell, not bothering to reverse it, relishing the fact that either side would be lethal-

THUNK

Damnit.

So it went, but the little man was not discouraged. Idleness had never come naturally to him. He knew the point of being here, by the lake, secluded and almost alone. They had... made quite a splash, in Andaris City. How they'd got from there to here was still something of a blur to him, but the what and the who was what mattered. The little man squared his feet and eased into a fighting stance. His mind was elsewhere... part of it, anyway.

Some sort of mage-fighter. Hunted them down, killed them.

SHUK-SHUK

A quick forward-and-backhand combination. Harder that with his other weapons, due to its weight. Something else to consider.

Fates, it was like we'd topped the fucking king. All those guards. Probably got bounties on us from here to-

Wood creaked above him, and he froze in mid-swing. Snapped his head up and around to stare before the echo of the sound had even faded. He was a fugitive. From Etzos. From Andaris City. Likely soon from this place, too. He was a walking sack of gold to whatever man was brave or foolish enough to face him... or, more likely, gather up a squadron of fellows and swamp him with greedy muscle. Smarter move, overall. So Kasoria's senses were keen, listening not for noises, but suspicious noises. Things that were out of place. Unusual.

You're in a wood, and a tree moved. Calm yourself.

He grunted, sounding more like a wounded bear than anything else. The image got him to thinking of... her, again. The shifter. He knew that wasn't the name for what her kind could do, but it was the name they'd been given back when he was a boy. Fantastical tales, as those of magic always were, but what could be more outlandish than actually changing your own body as you wished? People who could morph themselves into great beasts, soaring eagles, fish and insects, and even things that were amalgamations of all, or none, or others not so easily known.

Kasoria swallowed hard as a sea of memories came unbidden. What she'd become. What she'd done. The mortal terror in a half-dozen faces before this thing had torn them to pieces, laying waste to guard and servant alike on their mad dash out of the palace. He ground his teeth and redoubled his efforts. There was him, the target, and the weapon. Nothing else mattered. He sidestepped smoothly, came in first low-

-a feint, almost skipping across the grass, backhanding at the wood-

THU-

THUNK!

"Fuck!"

Instinct had him leaping away from the tree and drawing his karambit before he'd finished turning. The javelin trembled in the tree, right under the head of the ax. A perfect shot. Masterful. Impossible... especially considering it had come from almost directly above him. Face now taut and eyes wide, Kasoria scanned the space above him. Tangles of dark trees, dark branches, dark vines and dark, dark, dark! He couldn't see anything save the fluttering fall of a leaf. His jaw clenched and-

Something gurgled, up there in the canopy. Something infantile, and human.

Kasoria knew that listening wasn't enough; you had to know what to listen for. The sheer absurdity of hearing a baby in the tall trees was enough to sweep away the vast majority of possibilities. He knew who was up there, now. A sharp, cruel face came to his mind. He could almost see it sniggering at him, proud as a jungle cat. He'd heard it said, back in Etzos, that the enemies of Vorund reviled him as a "savage", a "barbarian", not just for his habitual garb and look, but his brutality. As if that set him apart from the civilized folk.

Kasoria had believed them, until he'd met that woman. Raised up as much by wilderness and the indifferent cruelty of nature as mother's milk. One who looked at him somewhere between reluctant, disdainful curiosity and naked, animal hunger.

Still don't mean you can throw fucking sticks at me.

"Oi?! Fuck're youse playin' at?!"

He strained his ears to hear the branches above him now. The echoes of infant cooing, awakened from slumber. There was... a pattern. A path of sounds through the shadow-shrouded canopy. Kasoria growled something obscene and yanked his ax free. His karambit went back to its sheath, and he plunged into the undergrowth after her. He was incensed and annoyed and stunned and fucking outraged and-

-and he didn't know he was grinning until he finally caught sight of her.

[Qit'ria]

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She heard the man's growling words of anger and frustration. Good. She wanted that. It was one of the better parts of him. Especially since he'd removed all the face hair. She'd liked that part. He looked more wild then. Qit leapt out from branch to branch, intentionally going slower than she could, jumping and swinging, so that she wouldn't get too far ahead of him. Caza, meanwhile, was loving every minute of it. The little girl was giggling and chortling to her heart's content out here.

Up ahead, there were branches without leaf cover. She smirked and leapt out toward it, landing on a single foot upon it, balancing there, the other leg stretched behind her, her torso forward. She turned and crouched, seeing him a ways back, his eyes on her. And he was smiling. An Echo swelled within her chest, and she let loose her loudest panther scream at him. Not a warning. A challenge. Then she turned and slipped around the back of the trunk onto another branch, out of sight. She quickly drew a javelin and chucked into a tree into the distance, letting it slam into a large branch, causing it to shake wildly.

She pulled Caza from her chest, willing the vines to protect her. They complied, for that great spirit was her dear friend and relished the connection, and Caza herself was having the time of her life. The leaves wrapped the baby up in a shield that was just as good as metal and wood, and Qit tossed that into a different tree, watching it shake those branches as well, her child squealing in delight. The vines latched onto the branch and blended in, protecting the baby from harm.

Two distractions created, her baby safe, Qit waited there high above, seeing if the man would chase in the direction of either distractions. Meanwhile, she Adapted the batpanther's wings into her shoulder blades, a slow process, but one she was quite familiar with at this point. She could smell and hear the man's position with her echo enhanced senses, and so, she waited until the right moment, keeping the tree between himself and her. Then she slipped around and let herself fall from the branch forward.

The batpanther was a creature of stealth, so when her wings caught the wind, they didn't make a sound. And she didn't flap, but rather let herself glide around the trees, curling in to get behind the man. She landed upon a smooth stone with a slightly rougher landing than intended, for while her feet were well trained to be silent, her wings were still needing practice. She recalled the wings back into her, and at the same time absorbed all of her totems safely into her body, along with her domain bag.

She followed his scent, the sound of his heartbeat and breathing, naked as the day she was born. She could see clearly in the forest where he'd stepped. She knew he could move lightly like herself, but he was a barbarian of the city. She was a barbarian of the wilds. He was on her turf now.

And she intended to make him pay tribute, in the only way she wished.

So, she stalked after him, and with each step that drew her closer to him, she made them more and more obvious. So that he'd know he was being hunted by her. She waited until it would be impossible for him to not notice, where her eyes would be fierce and hungry. She'd performed her half of the dance, now it was his turn.

[Kasoria]

Forest or city, foliage or cobbles, Kasoria knew when he was being stalked. He was a hunter himself, after all.

The first few chimes of the chase were the easy part. She wasn't trying to hide from him or cover her tracks. She wanted him to follow her, deeper and deeper into terrain she knew so well. Anyone else, and Kasoria would have turned around and gone back to the house. Familiar territory, defensible and man-made. As he crashed through bushes and brambles, ax swinging at his side as he went, he wondered if maybe he should do the same with this one.

She could have killed you on the beach, in the palace, on the way here, and any night after. But she hasn't. And if she wanted to nail you with that stick, she probably could have done that, too.

Heartened if not exactly satisfied by that thought, the Etzori plowed on through the undergrowth. Until darkness slit and carved by starlight gave way to a canopy bereft of cover. Bare of leaves, pale silver light poured through the branches straight through to the ground. He looked up and saw a figure up there, lithe as a jungle cat. She turned to him and a flash of animal eyes caught his. Then came a roar that was... simply not human.

Trials before, Kasoria may have quailed. Aye, even he. But that was then, and this was now. He'd seen what she could do, in more forms than he thought even a mage could manage. This time he just growled back and tossed his ax from one hand to the other.

"Yeah, "grrr" yehself, ya bitch!"

Then she was gone. A blur of movement, an explosion from tense limbs, and she was among the black skeletons of the dead trees. The sound of metal slamming into wood preceded a shaking bunch of branches a moment later, and Kasoria started-

No. That wasn't her. That was-

Then another, further away... in the opposite direction. Kasoria didn't pursue. Instinct told him to give chase, lunging after the shaking trees, but... no. He knew the sound of metal smacking into wood. The heavy thunk, the slight twang afterwards. Then there was the fact they were in two different directions, and mage though she was, he didn't think Qit could Rupture. If she could, their journey here would half been a shite-sight easier.

So he stood there. Lit by the stars. In the clearing. Looking up into the blackness and-

Something huge and wing'd eclipsed the heavens. Blotted them out like a hand over a candle. Cast a shadow huge and terrifying over him and before he could gasp-

-it was gone, vanished into the trees again. He strained his ears and couldn't make out where she landed. A rustle, the suggestion of grass under feet, of leathery wings shuddering... but no direction. Sound echoed and bounced off the trees, muddling his senses. He looked around himself and saw nothing but darkness staring back at him. Until he heard... footsteps. Faint at first. Then louder.

Cracking twigs. Crunching grass. Not trying to hide anymore. Not trying to sneak up-

Behind you.

Kasoria looked over his shoulder and found a naked woman standing in the moonlight. Not a stitch, not a scrap. Staring at him from that straight, black hair like a veil pulled aside. That intricate tattoo of a tree snaked and grew from her groin to her chest, curling up and over her flat stomach. Like the tree of life from forgotten lore, springing from... well, where life came from in the first place, really.

"Youse like fuckin' about, don't you?" He said with a sigh, shaking his head and lashing out one-handed with his ax. He buried it into a tree with a dry, sharp thunk, and left it there. "What is it, eh? Bored as me?"

He turned and faced her. Separated by grass and empty air alone. Clad in breeches and shirt and sandals and everything she scorned. There was that heat again. Not just from her, but from him. In him. Smoldering behind his black eyes, cold and reptilian where hers were burning and feline. He cocked his head to one side, started to walk...and she mirrored him. Both of them circling, studying the other for-

Weaknesses. Of a sort.

"I seen youse got claws," he said, one hand vanishing behind his back. "Well... I got me own."

Traitor's Claw hummed in his hand as he withdrew it, curved karambit filling his palm. He flipped it forwards them back, handle smacking into his palm each time. A quick, adept flourish each time, catching the light and sending it flickering over her face. He shrugged and stopped pacing. Body halfway between a casual slouch, and combat stance.

There was that grin again. Yellow and white against a tanned face. Hungry and scornful, ready and waiting.

"C'mon, girl," he said with a sniff, swiping under his nose with a thumb. "Les' geddon wiv' it, eh?"

[Qit'ria]

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So he was admiring her claws. Smart. Her eyes drifted to his blade, and she could feel the ferality coming from it. It was not a mere tool, not like her own javelins. It was an extension of him, just as much a part of him as his hands. It was indeed his claw. Qit'ria grinned slyly at this, as she adapted the claws on her hand to grow longer like the spines of the Gasping Skitterer totem within her. Though, as a courtesy, she kept them free of the poison. She'd hate for him to choke to death while she mounted him.

She turned, moving with careful steps in a circle around him, her side eye gaze nonchalant, her movements fluid and feline, as she stalked around him. She knew she could command his gaze as he was waiting for her attack. So she'd make him wait, make him watch. And so, she sauntered, playing with her claws, making them shriek of their sharpness.

She turned her eyes away, just a hair's width of a distance, enough that most people might not notice, but she knew he would. And it was meant to be a feint on her part. One to draw him leaning in toward her. And in that same instant, she was darting in toward him, one set of claws slashing high, the others slashing low.

But her attacks were not meant to maim or kill.

No, she was aiming with the precision of near misses. To slash away those clothes that bound his scarred, lithe form. To present his body to her. Following her slashes, she kicked outward, at his stomach. This was not a kick to strike and cause bruising or damage to bones, but rather one that was deigned to send him stumbling backwards off balance. Following the kick, regardless of its success, Qit kicked that same leg upwards as she flipped backwards, landing on it, moving back to a safer range.

And her hungry eyes continued to stare the man down.

[Kasoria]

A few trials ago, Kasoria might have made a face of shock when he saw the claws grow like pale needles from the woman's hands. The sight of them lengthening until they were weapons in their own right; the damage he'd seen them do, clean and sharp or dripping with poison, would have been enough to make the hairs on his neck bristle. But This was not Then. This was Now, and Kasoria just smirked softly at her pantomime, even when that hideous, screeching, scraping sound was strangled forth from her "blades" as they circled each other.

"We worryin' 'bout stakes, here?" He said mildly, never taking his eyes off the lithe, inked figure doing the same to him. Looking for the same opening as him. "Not that I'm worried about youse hurtin' me or-"

There it was. A break. A chink. She looked away, as if hearing something off to the side. Kasoria didn't worry about whether or not he'd missed it. All he knew was the duel, the fight, the brawl, this moment. His body lost its defensive posture as he took a half-step towards a woman whose measure he thought he knew-

Shit!

Problem was, there's always quite a gulf between what you think you know, and what actually is.

Back on the defensive he went as Qit sprung the trap and that nude form was hurtling at him with claws a-swinging. Kasoria didn't even have time to snap out a curse, just mentally blurt one out. Then those long, fine, sharp works of bone were slashing and hammering at him. Moving fast and accurate across and before him. He couldn't feel the pain of the blows thanks to Traitor Claw, but yes, yes, he knew he was being sliced up. For every three or four sweeps and slashes he blocked or parried, there was at least one that ripped through fabric and flesh. He could feel the eerie pressure of his flesh being opened; the wetness of blood flowing. By the time he growled out a curse and got back on the offensive-

"Ooof!"

-a kick to his stomach sent him stumbling back, and when he looked back up, clad in tatters and still clutching his blade-

There she was. Just as poised and mocking as ever. Silent and inscrutable, still and triumphant... all save for her eyes. Those yellow lanterns were stinking, sweating, groaning with something beyond blood-lust. Though, Kasoria knew well, the two feelings were perversely close together. He looked down at himself for a moment and sighed at the rags she'd made of his clothes. With his free hand, he grabbed a handful of them, ripped-

-and everything but his torn up breeches was peeled off him, and tossed away.

Now it was his turn to study. See the way her eyes flared for a moment as his ravaged, inked, scarred torso was revealed to her. Their shenanigans in Andaris City had added a few more to him, still red and living and healing... but now he understood what she was doing. If she'd sought to open him up, she would have. The handful of fine red scratches on him were proof of that if she wanted to poison him, kill him, she could.

Those stickers of hers aren't even dripping. She's playing with you.

Flirting, actually.

Kasoria smirked and chuckled softly. The sound curled though the air between them like smoke. He waggled a finger towards her, Traitor Claw making soft little sounds as it flipped back and forth in his hand.

"Gotta say, yer faster than I thought.' He scratched at his belly button. Drawing her gaze down to hard, lean, bruised edges. "But y'can't forget-"

He saw her look down, and moved as fast as his battered, healing body would allow. He'd no time to make a feint like hers, but he'd work with what he had. He shot forwards with his teeth bared, grinding hard as he bit down all the screaming, jangling pain from a body still recovering and not liking this fist-fighting bollocks. His arm snapped out, Traitor Claw jutting out from under his fist, slashing at her in a way she'd become familiar with-

-but not when his fingers snapped up, releasing the handle of the blade, then snapped back down. Now the blade swung around his pointer, adding an extra ten inches to his reach, tipped by a wickedly-curved blade-

Not the only one who knows tricks.

Whether it cut deep or shallow, Kasoria could imagine how painful it would be. Every slice, every cut, every draw of blood those claws of her had inflicted, they would be paid back to her when Traitor Claw made it's mark. Up to a point, anyway. He wasn't sure exactly how many cuts an enemy could give him before the blade... was overwhelmed, he supposed the term was, but either way-

Either way it hurts, or it drives her back. Both are good.

He didn't go back on the defensive. Didn't cringe away from the Becomer and her magic and her grisly, contorted form. He backhanded, he slashed, he let the blade dance and fly around his finger, driving her away apart from she she lashed out again at him, going low-

-his shin shot out and blocked her, slamming into the crook of her elbow, before the bent leg snapped up and straightened in the same movement-

-aiming a heavy blow at her ribcage. Hard enough the rattle bones and jostle organs, even when barefoot. He stole his moment again, Traitor Claw slapping back into a proper grip and he feinted with a staccato series of punches, from nose to cunny, none coming close, keeping her guessing, waiting for-

There.

The witch lashed out high this time. What he'd been steadying himself for. Claws as savagely efficient as any blade came for him again, eyes behind them a little more wild than before. Seeking vengeance, not just... satisfaction. Kasoria slid across the dirt, barely seeming to touch it. His left arm came up to block and parry the swing but he didn't stop moving, body already spinning to the side-

-suddenly at Qit's left instead of her front and he didn't stop spinning until-

-his right elbow came up with him and cracked her across the back of the head. If she'd been slow enough to stay put, after all. If she hadn't, she'd have scrambled away and seen Kasoria finally come to a stop. Facing her again,Traitor Claw gripped, dirty teeth filthy glitters behind a wall of shining, sweaty hair. He pushed it back over his head with his free hand and breathed out heavily, making the sound almost musical towards the end. He studied Traitor Claw for a moment, and marked the blood on the tip... before flicking it towards her-

THUNK

-watching it bury in the tree trunk a few feet to her right. When she looked back, he was cracking his knuckles and looked exactly what he wanted to look at: the very model of the Arsehole Fucking Male, triumphant and crowing. He'd used it to shake a strong woman before, raise her ire at being talked to, treated, looked at like some helpless damsel. Kasoria knew that given the intent she had towards him, barely hidden under their violence, he should probably not poke that bear too much. Mainly because she could literally become a bear if he did.

"C'mon now, princess."

But he didn't. He even stressed that word he'd heard her practically spit back in Andaris City, soaked with scorn and disgust for the highborn types. Barely clothed and now without a weapon, Kasoria made a quick little "come on" gesture, and braced himself.

"Put yer claws away. Put me down wiv' just yer muscles... we'll see what happens next."

[Qit'ria]

Common Text
Xanthean Text
Kashehino Text

She watched as he tore away the rags of his clothing, seeing the tattoos and scars and knotted muscles beneath his skin. Her eyes flared in obvious attraction. There was never an attempt for Qit to hide such a thing. Not in this moment, not ever. Her eyes followed his fingers to a scar on his stomach, when suddenly he was coming toward her.

Her guard had been dropped for the briefest of moments, and he'd used it, just as she had moments earlier. His steel flashed bright, and she found herself struggling to keep up with the movements of it. The blade caught her across the defensive forearm, carving a deep groove as she skipped backwards away from it, finding ground.

She made hasty in her retreat, at first. Then one of her back steps didn't go back at all, but rather snapped forward, aiming at his ribs. With that kick, came a stab from the opposite side. But the stab was stopped by his leg, and answered in kind with a kick that broke a rib or two of hers. Soon, she delved into a feral style of wild, animalistic slashing and clawing, no longer using any semblance of discipline, as the pain continued to rack up.

That came to an abrupt end when his elbow caught her in the skull and sent her stumbling. Literally knocked some sense back into her. He was stronger than her. Or rather, was being smarter about it than her. Then the blade thunked into the tree trunk by her. And she looked up, her lust for him growing ever stronger. He'd not only met her challenge, but exceeded it, and was giving his own.

He had that look about him that was just pure male. King of the fucking world. She decided to knock that smirk down just a hair. Eyes locked on him, she let began her biggest Adapted form. It used the Ithecal as a base, put a bears head on it, large venomous spines up the back and extending out from the arms. The muscles were bulging tight. This form was a captain of a mercenary company from Yaralon, and was a Thiussum. He was big.

Qit continued to stare at Kasoria, before winking at him, and shifting back to her injured Sev'ryn form. She removed the claws, since he asked so nicely. Then she started walking toward him, lusting eyes locked on him, letting her feminine aroma fill the space between them. She ignored the broken ribs, the slashes. She was a Becomer, pain was just something that excited her, as was evident in her body and gait toward him.

She'd drawn his blood, he'd drawn hers, the dance was complete.

She continued sidling toward him, not feigning or hiding anything. Once she was standing within striking distance of him, she cheated, and echoed the speed of the panther's strike into her arm. It was a small use of magic and one that could go unseen. But what it did do was let her punch faster than she was normally capable, and she struck Kasoria right across the jaw.

"Fuck me. Now." Her smile curled up a bit, "No be gentle." Because she definitely would not be. There would be more blows exchanged and blood flowed before she was done with him. And she did not intend to be done with him for a good, long while.

[Kasoria]

That's... new.

Kasoria's mind shorted out for a moment, like a torch guttering in a high wind. As her form shifted, his eyes grew wider. What took her place didn't look so much crafted from her flesh so much as summoned. A monster, a nightmare that walked with the vast, scaled bulk of an Ithecal, the largest of their breed, but snarled at him with the black, fanged snout of a bear. Spines as long as his forearm shivered out of its arms, almost dripping poison. He couldn't help the backward steps, the flicker of uncertainty on his face. For a moment he thought some other wyrd was at work here; that she'd been pushed past a point where Becoming alone wasn't enough, and some pact, some favor had been established, calling forth something from a plane he didn't wish to think about.

Then it winked, and he knew better. No hiding that gesture, no matter what her form. It seemed to be her favored method of communicating with him. A wink, a smirk, a look that warred with arousal and contempt and seemed strong in both at the same time.

He let out a ragged breath as the daemon shrunk back down to... essentially a smaller daemon, as far as he was concerned. Battered and bruised as much as him, but all the more lethal for it. She was as deadly naked and "unarmed" as he was plied with steel. He breathed in, and amidst the blood and the sweat was something that... made him react. Bodily. More so than had already happened, anyway.

It was with a great deal of effort that Kasoria did not glance down to see how obvious that reaction was. And then she went ahead and ruined it by-

There was a blur. Not a punch. Time enough for him to realize he was under attack, but not enough to do anything about it. Her fist cracked into his jaw like a shrunken hammer and the world spun along with his body. Twisting him around seeing stars dragged down to the earth and he went down to one knee... but no lower. Pain was fleeting. It was the price paid for strength. Kasoria had long arcs to learn that lesson, and been taught it as many times as his scars could attest to. On bent knee, the assassin shook his head... and chuckled.

Of course, she fucking cheats. Good girl.

A moment later, her voice was in his ear. Slithering and feral and rank and irresistible. Everything undeniable about the female form, in the basest way imaginable. Again, he reacted. Across his whole body, flesh pimpled into goosebumps. A shiver ran across him from neck to toes. There was not a dram of romance between them, and never would be. But the heat... that was impossible for him to shake away, and when he exhaled, it was with a ragged rush more to do with that than the blow.

"Well..." he said eventually, rising to his feet. "I would oblige..."

He closed the distance between them. Let his own musk wash over her in that stinking wave she seemed to enjoy so much. Snaked a hand up her arm and behind her head until he had a grip on her hair. With nothing but a quick look in her eyes, he yanked her head to the side... so she could feel his breath burning against her neck. Warming her flesh from her clavicle, up to the hollow under her ear.

Wait for it...

He forced himself to hold back. Beat and bludgeoned his own body and every writhing instinct it growled at him. Controlled himself until his lips were at her ear, and even at a whisper, every word sent a pulse of hot air against it.

"But yeh didn't quite put me down, did you?"

Then he bit into it. Hard. Not enough to rip it off, but Fates, he'd pulled that trick off plenty of times. Nothing ruined the poise and form of an enemy than feeling someone tear off part of their body, then watching them spit it our or swallow it a moment later. But Kasoria wasn't interested in permanent damage that day. His teeth sunk into her long enough to draw blood, then as he body shook with pain, with confusion, with lust-

-he drew back his head, catching her eye again-

-and rammed his crown into the ridge between her eyes-

-then bent his knees in a flash as he head snapped back, knowing he'd only get a trill to pull this off-

-wrapping his arms around her legs, under her arse, then heaving up and to the side with a roar like that thing she'd turned into-

-lifting her up, and throwing her to the side like a sack of potatoes.

She landed well, of course. Little he could do to her would shake the mage too much. Kasoria watched as she flailed for but a moment in mid-air, but by the time she landed, she was herself again. She partially rolled into it, not smacking onto the ground torso first. No, she rolled, and came up on her feet, outrage and arousal pulsing from her gaze. Kasoria smiled down at her, then held up his left arm.

Which started to glow.

"And yeh cheated, I'd say," he said, voice juddering, shaking, like he could barely keep his instincts at bay anymore. But he would. Oh, he would. Because they weren't finished with his fun, first. "So, allow me t'pay yeh back fer that..."

Ether, glowing and white and blue, oozed out of his forearm like a cloud. But rather than float away, it pooled into an oval just above his skin. With a command she couldn't hear, the expulsion became solid. A Shield protected his arm now, from his clenched fist to his elbow, almost as broad as his torso. Ether writhed across it like oil across water, but the edges were solid, immovable. Kasoria slid into a fighting stance, found that he couldn't, not with these breeches-

Fuck it, might as well.

With his other hand, he reached down and tore them off. They were so shredded that one good yank was all it took. Standing there, now reduced to his sandals and his undergarments, he was fully aware of how ridiculous he looked. If anyone from civilization was watching, anyway. They were both far from such a thing. The lights of the city were distant things, and their order, their decencies, they only extended as far as the lights.

There were no lights here. Just the moon and two savages, breathing hard and tasting blood and no, no, Kasoria would not be dragging this out longer than this last clash.

"Final round, little one," he said with a smirk. "Make it good."

Then with a yell the Etzori charged, Shield up to ward off the claws and talons she would deploy, right arm cocked back to unleash a granite-knuckled punch at the first opening she gave him.