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Character: Detraeus
Stage: Adept
Luck: 34 (+4)
Creature: Adult Arvathi x 4
Success Rate: 6 - 100

Win x 4: 49 x 4 = 196/2 = 98

Total: 98exp, Levels to 37 with 22/37 exp left over, +9 stat points to distribute

Word Count Required: (1,200 for Detraeus + 500 for Lithian as RP but not battle credit = 1,700+)
Final Word Count: 3,215

Lithian sighed, drawing his hands back from his youngest sister and pinning her with a tight-lipped Look. “You’re fine, now,” he said, gathering up the small, undulating orb of water he’d used to check over her health status. “I still can’t believe you—” He gave a curt huff, shaking his head. “It was incredibly dangerous, and foolhardy, for you to venture out here without our parents’ permission. Without anyone—”

“I came with Telliah and—” At Lith’s look, however, Iwana stopped speaking, pouting and plopping back to a folded sit on the floor of their shoddily-constructed tent. “I’m fine,” she blurted. “You made it to adept when you were barely my age, and Mother and Father are always saying that contact, communication, and knowledge breed peace. But how can I learn, and communicate without travelling? How was I to know they wouldn’t take well to our family crest just because of Ysette’s—”

“Iwana…”

Iwana’s lips pinched shut again, brow furrowing and arms folding tight across her chest.

Lithian shook his head, reaching up to tuck back a strand of the vibrant, earth green hair that had fallen across his sister’s cheek. “Don’t make this about Ysette? Please? This is about me worrying for you. Rightly, because you put yourself in danger by not keeping those who would protect you informed…I—”

“You promised you wouldn’t tell Mother and Father, Lithian — you did, please! Please don’t—”

Lithian held a finger to his lips and Iwana pouted. He smiled. “I’m here, aren’t I? And you’re safe now…” He glanced out of the tent towards where Araceli was likely still tending to the fire. They’d be needing more wood soon, but he was loathe to leave his little sister behind even for a moment after all that had happened. “I won’t tell…I should,” he emphasized, frowning as he eyed her. “But I won’t. Ara and I will get you out of here, and by tomorrow midday, we should make it back to the shore and be able to catch a ferry back to Eowyn, and then the vortex…we’ll be back on the Plane before Mother and Father suspect anything more than that ‘school outing’ you were so excited about…”

At his look, Iwana at least managed to look somewhat guilty. For a few seconds. Then, her face split into a beaming grin and she bounced forward, slinging her arms around his neck and shoulders and clinging in a tight hug.

Lithian blinked, startled at first, then flushed, sighing and relaxing as he hugged her back. Tucking his face against the side of her head, he shut his eyes and kissed her temple, just beneath her horns. “Please don’t do this again, Iwa…it’s terrifying…to fear for you like I did. To not know…if…” He swallowed, and Iwana shook her head, stroking his hair before they parted.

“I won’t, Lithi, I promise…”

Lithian smiled, blinking back the faint, fading sting in the corners of his eyes, and nodded. “Good girl.” Bending down, he kissed her forehead. “I’m going to go out and see what Ara is up to…thank her, again, and see if perhaps she can go out and get us some more firewood…” As he moved to stand, Lithian pinned his sister again with his stare. “Don’t leave the tent, do you understand?”

Iwana rolled her eyes. “Lithi, I’m fi—”

“Iwana.” Lithian’s shoulders sank an inch. “Please?”

Only when she nodded did the corner of Lithian’s lips curve back up, and he exited the tent. He found Ara crouched at their dying fire, adding the last few of their remaining twigs to it. “I…” Lithian flushed as he eyed his friend, reaching up and rubbing absently at one of his horns. “I wanted to thank you again,” he said, “…for coming out with me. I know you’re not comfortable here, and I know I didn’t even seem grateful when you offered, perhaps, but…this may not have happened as it did without your help.” He sat, perching on the nearest gnarled stump and letting his eyes lose themselves in the yellow-red of the fire. “We’ll need more wood soon. Do you…” He glanced to the surrounding forest — fungal, tall, and strange, murky with Soudul’s almost perpetual mists — and tried not to look unnerved. “Do you want to stay here with Iwana while I gather some?”

Detraeus weaved nimbly through the underbrush of Soudul’s dank, fungal forest: thick, gnarled roots that twisted and wove amidst and between each other like snakes locked in an eternal, frozen battle, mists that often shrouded the vision of those less attuned to it and carpeted the swampy forest floor, and the distant clicks, coos, and howls of the resident wildlife. All of it had become as natural and familiar to Detraeus as anywhere else in his memory. A second home to him, or — perhaps — even his primary home, as he felt more at ease in Soudul’s shadowed forests than most anywhere else that had been twisted by the presence of people. Civilization.

Lip curling at the thought, he proceeded deeper, feet soundless and ears alert. His vision pulsed through the fog, picking out defined shapes beneath the blanket to an extent that the other races would never be blessed with. A garghon nest: that was his target on this day. He’d located a niche area not so long ago where a sizeable group of the creatures had taken to gathering in the late evenings. Close to the poison lake, Koralifel, but not so close that he didn’t dare take advantage of the hunting opportunity.

As of late Detraeus had felt ever more restless, wanting to test his strength on something, anything other than slow, dumb game for meat profit by weight. Garghon were not that. Easy now, and too common to be interesting, in essence: boring. But Martrae’a had asked it of him, and Detraeus felt a reluctant sense of duty towards her in spite of himself. What the woman wanted, within reason, he felt it was his obligation — at least to some extent — to provide, provided it didn’t conflict with him personally. At least, he reminded himself, for as long as he chose to stay.

He would need to leave eventually. Soon even, perhaps.

Yes. He frowned as he thought on it more. Soon would be best. He’d been in her company on and off now for nearly three full cycles of the seasons. He was no longer the child he once was, and — as familiar as he had become with the landscape — he needed to get off of Soudul. It was stifling, and too easy.

As he closed in on his desired location, Detraeus turned his attention to the trees. He scoured each with a critical eye. Angle. Accessibility. Height. Coverage and camouflage The entire area was still thick with forest cover, giving him ample options, and when he picked his target, he stepped up to it. Checking the security of his bow and throwing knives once over carefully, Detraeus raised his arms, jumped for the lowest branch, latching his fingers tightly, and swung his body weight, twisting and hoisting himself up with practiced ease. He climbed to the second, then third tier of branches up before settling, finding a comfortable, secure pose, and beginning his wait.

The sun had close to set when his targets first began nosing out of the brush. Silently, though they were too far off still to take aim at, Detraeus readied his bow, and watched. Close. So close. Two, then three, then five of them: a plump, waddling adult female — pregnant, perhaps? — two stout males, one an alpha, and two young. The pair of males would be more than enough to provide himself and Martrae’a with meat for the next fortnight with half left over to sell, and the feathers made a decent profit besides.

Stringing his arrow, Detraeus’ breath slowed to a whisper between his lips, attention absolutely focused, body still, fingers loose but steady: ready to draw. Ten paces closer, and they would be in perfect range. Seven. Five. His tongue licked the inner edge of his bottom lip. Three—

Something shuffled a good distance away, and Detraeus felt the muscles in his shoulders bunch, eyes narrowing in a forced focus on his prey. If a beast of prey — or, for that matter, anything large enough to startle them ran through now—

The cracking and shuffling grew louder. Footsteps. The unmistakable, clumsy, messy footsteps of someone who’d never attempted to sneak up on a thing in their life.

Detraeus grit his teeth, forcibly trying to pin his attention his targets. Maybe he could still get a shot in. Not a perfect shot — they already looked wary — but maybe, if he was lucky—

A loud snap of foliage breaking underfoot sounded. Too close. The garghon mother honked, and the males made abrasive noises before they all went fleeing back in the direction they’d come. Completely out of shot range. Detraeus spat a curse between grit teeth, and turned his head to narrow his eyes on the culprit.

Pale.

He blinked, surprise momentarily throwing off his anger. Fair, fair skin — nearly white for as far as he could tell — and adorned with curving, winged horns. A dovaa girl? His anger filtered back as the surprise died off. Of course. Leave it to a clumsy, stupid foreigner to get lost where they didn’t belong. She was far too deep in the forest to be here intentionally, or so he figured, and certainly not alone. A scholar, maybe?

Snorting, Detraeus drew a second arrow. Stringing it beside the first, separated only by a finger, he tilted his head, aimed, and fired: two arrows in one shot, buried fast in the earth a hand’s breadth from her feet.

“That was ‘polite’.” Detreaus moved to the bottom branch of his perch, then swung, dropping to the forest floor with a grace born only from experience. “Leave before I forget my manners.”

Detraeus’ attention flicked over the girl, barely hearing what she said. Older than him, he guessed, though perhaps not by much. Several fingers’ breadths taller than him. Armed with little — nothing more than a simple dagger at her hip. And her eyes. The darkness in them gave him brief pause. A hybrid, perhaps? She didn’t look to have the scales of a typical dovaa, but wasn’t armed like a warrior.

He considered for several seconds before eventually shrugging, dipping, and yanking his arrows out from the earth at her feet. “Stand there, then,” he said, brushing the dirt from his arrow shaft and then blowing on the head to clean it. “I care little.”

The garghons were lost, and his momentary spark of irritation was lost to disinterest and inattention. Without the garghon meat, he’d need to bring something home to Martrae’a in its stead, and this girl was a time-wasting, harmless but pointless obstacle. Seconds from leaving, however, a slither of movement in the forests just behind the girl’s back caught his notice, and Detraeus froze, all too familiar with the sound.

“Move.”

Detraeus strung his bow. Fitting in one of the two arrows he’d just shot, he turned on the beast that’d just been slung like a wet ribbon in a hurricane into the nearest tree, aimed, and released. Barely waiting a moment after the feathers of the first arrow flit past his fingers, he repeated the process, nocking the second one into place and releasing again, successfully burying two arrows in the creature’s body at head and neck. For several seconds after, he held his ground, body poised with a third arrow as he watched the creature twitch, shudder, and eventually still.

Ayrala.

Once satisfied that the creature was, in fact, dead, he grimaced and relaxed his bow arm, but kept his arrow hanging loosely at the ready as he turned to eye the girl again. What was she doing out here? A battler, clearly, or she’d never have handled an arvathi so well, but more than anything, that information put Detraeus on edge. What was her purpose in the area? Was she hunting something also?

No, she’d been far too loud, he reminded himself. Careless and clumsy. She was also, if nothing else, obviously unaccustomed to the terrain and probably lost. A fighter, but not a hunter. He pursed his lips, waiting. Did she intend to stand there indefinitely just to prove her obstinateness as far as his instructions were concerned?

Eventually, he sneered. “If you intend to stand there until your body feeds the predators, have the grace to die quietly so you don’t scare off my game next time.” That said, Detraeus holstered his bow, and moved towards the slain arvathi. Holding its head flat, he yanked out one arrow, then the other, inspected them each in turn, and frowned as he smeared off the meat scraps and blood with his gloved fingers. One chipped head and a broken shaft. He’d need to fashion more soon. And all for—

A single rustle beneath the blanket of fog to his left was all the warning Detraeus got before a second, very much alive fanged head snapped out at him. He darted back, rolling messily but managing to snatch up his dagger in the process, and he landed in a low crouch, weapon drawn, attention pinned on the beast. After several drawn seconds considering him, it turned to the girl.

Detraeus watched the girl fight, his eyes narrowed but body immobile. Rationally, he knew he ought to leave. Now. She seemed capable enough, and wasn’t his business to protect anyway. He had better places to be, and she wasn’t worth his time.

Something kept his attention on her, though. The way the air stirred around her, rippled and bent to appease her — the feel of her magic as it danced through the wind. It rooted him, fascinating him. If he could have controlled such powers…

The thought of what he could do with the wind always at his back, always guiding his arrows, gave him a spark of curious envy.

Detraeus shook his head. Leave. The girl meant nothing.

Moments from turning away, however, a third beast was on her, knocking her back, fangs bared and closing in. Detraeus felt himself pause, attention flitting to her weapon and back. She meant nothing to him, he re-emphasized to himself mentally. What did he care if the thing ate her? She could be a distraction to it while he got away.

Then, a small sound escaped her lips, and something in Detraeus bent, his body freezing in place. Frightened. She was frightened, and he…

Detraeus swore beneath his breath, turned back around and plucked another arrow from his quiver. Leveling his shot with the beast’s head he aimed, drew a breath, and fired. One, two shots, one solid, one grazing — the serpent hissed, thrashing and turning its attention to him. It slithered haphazardly towards him, half-blinded by the arrow in one of its largest eyes, and Detraeus noted that its body was larger than both the others and nearly filled with the lighter stripes along its skin, meaning its own venom was likely now driving it insane to begin with and poisoning it from the inside out.

When it snapped at him, he spun, cracking the body of his bow against it to deflect the first bite and then, drawing his dagger, dipping in, and slitting clean across its ‘throat’, half-severing its head in the process. After a brief, full-body spasm, the creature crumpled, and fell still. Detraeus let out a breath, pulse fast in his throat, and grimaced, yanking his arrows, again, from the corpse.

“You should get out of here, sky princess.” He wiped his arrowhead on the side of his boot, glanced over it speculatively, and then tucked it back in his quiver. “I don’t think Soudul likes you very much.”

Lithian fidgeted by the fireside. Ara had been gone for so long, and his worry had been mounting progressively. What if something had happened to her? What if she’d gotten lost? Attacked? Encountered violent obliviontes? Been hurt? The possibilities drew on and on, and what if—

“Lithi?”

Lithian jerked, head darting towards his sister’s voice. “Iwana. Iwana, I said not to—”

“Where is your friend?” Iwana asked, ignoring his warning entirely as she slipped out of the tent and stretched shamelessly. “I’m bored, shouldn’t she be back by now?” Iwana blinked, taking in Lithian’s worried composure, and then her eyes widened. “What if she was attacked by dragons? Lithian, what if—!”

“Ara is fine,” Lith insisted desperately, but his gut hurt with the thought, concerns mounting by the moment. It was full dark now. Pitch black with nothing but the opalescent moon to light the dreary landscape.

Iwana, apparently, picked up on his fears. “But Lithi, what if she’s hurt! We should go find her. Anything could have happened! She could—”

“Iwana…” Lithian found, much to his displeasure, that his voice came out thin, and weak with indecision. After several minutes of ineffective arguing, Iwana convinced him to take her along to search for her.

It took less searching than he anticipated.

“Ara.” Lithian blinked, eyes darting from the slain, bleeding bodies of arvathi on the forest floor to his friend and — an oblivionite? He held his sister back when she made to dart forward. “What is…?”

The oblivionite boy, though, apparently required no further incentive to leave, and disappeared into the murky forest within moments, leaving nothing behind him but Araceli and the oozing blood of venomous snakes. Temporarily, Lithian ushered him from his mind, and moved instead to Ara.

“Are you alright? What happened? Who was that? Are you hurt? Do you need heali—”

“Was it exciting?” Iwana cut in. “You look okay to me. Did that boy attack you?”

Lithian pursed his lips. “Iwana…”

Immediately, Lithian moved: plucking out the stoppers in his his water flasks and whipping twin streams out and up into a single, spiraling chord. Pulse fast in his chest with panic for his little sister, he swept forward, drawing the water in front of him like a whip and cutting — back and forth and back again — into the snake until it stilled entirely. It took many long moments, though, and the hesitant touch of his little sister’s hand to his elbow, before Lithian drew out of his defensive state and relaxed a fraction.

Shaking his head with a curt frown, he curved his fingers and plucked, guiding his water back into his flasks with a shaky sigh before stoppering them back up again. “Thank you,” he murmured to Ara, brushing his fingers absently over Iwana’s hair and avoiding looking at the corpse of the slain serpent. “I’ll be glad to get off of this wretched continent…”